Innocent
by MarauderLover7
Summary: Mr and Mrs Dursley of Number Four, Privet Drive, were happy to say they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. The same could not be said for their eight year old nephew, but his godfather wanted him anyway.
1. The Prisoner

_"Is that seat taken?" Sirius Black asked._

_"No," said a scrawny boy with messy, black hair said. "You can sit down if you like."_

_"Thank you," Sirius said, sitting._

_"You're welcome," said the sandy-haired boy by the window. He turned and gave Sirius a half-smile and then quickly went back to staring at the platform._

_"You're Black, aren't you?" the black haired boy said._

_Sirius sighed but didn't deny it. "I'm Sirius," he said, picking at his robes. _

_"James," James Potter said, grinning. He held out his hand and Sirius shook it. "That's Remus-" Remus – the boy by the window - turned again and gave Sirius a real smile this time and shyly offered his hand. Sirius shook it, smiling back. "-and we don't know her name." Sirius turned noticing the other occupant of the compartment for the first time. It was a girl with bright red hair, green eyes and a miserable, teary expression._

_She sniffled what could have been a greeting or what could have been nothing at all and Sirius nodded in her general direction before he turned back toward James and Remus._

_Remus had produced a battered copy of _The Standard Book of Spells_ and was now reading it with a fascinated expression. James peered over at the page and wrinkled his nose. "Urgh. Curse of the Bogies," he said with a delicate shudder._

_"Curse of the _what?_" Sirius asked, eyes wide._

_James poked Remus. "Hey, Remmy, show Sirius." _

_Remus looked up, startled. "Pardon?" James tugged the book out of the other boy's hands and passed it to Sirius who made a face at the gruesome picture and pushed it away. James gave the heavy tome back to Remus with a grin._

_Sirius watched their casual interaction with a twinge of jealousy. The only friends he'd ever had were his awful cousins and the spoilt pureblood children his parents forced him to be nice to when their social circle got together. The compartment door slid open to admit a gangly boy with greasy hair. Sirius opened his mouth to say hello but the boy went straight to the crying girl as if she was the only one there. Feeling lonelier than ever, Sirius made a face and turned back to James and Remus. "How long have you two known each other?"_

_"About ten minutes," James said, shrugging. Sirius felt marginally better._

_Remus marked his page and glanced at his watch. "Twelve minutes, actually."_

_James laughed. "Fine. We'll call it eleven."_

_"I'm telling you it's twelve," Remus said. _

_"Eleven," James sang, lying down on his seat. The crying girl and her friend gave him an annoyed look and shifted over to make room for his feet._

_Sirius grinned. "I'd be listening to – Remus, was it? – he's got a watch." He and the sandy haired boy shared a grin._

_"Fine," James said, making a face at the ceiling of the compartment. "Twelve minutes."_

_"Thirteen, now actually," Remus corrected, looking apologetic._

_James groaned and then perked up. "Slytherin?" he said in response to something the Snape boy had said. "Who'd want to be in Slytherin?" he asked sitting up. "I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?" _

_Sirius saw Remus swallow and look away. His own smile faded. "My whole family have been in Slytherin," he said. And he would be too; it was expected, regardless of what he wanted._

_"Blimey. And I thought you seemed all right!" James said, without the slightest malicious inflection in his tone._

_Sirius found himself grinning and he could see Remus' mouth twitching. There was just something about James, something about his casual, friendly manner that was contagious. "Maybe I'll break the tradition. Where are you headed if you get the choice?"_

_James lifted an invisible sword-_

_-and toppled off his seat, dead, his face suddenly ten years older. Beside him lay Lily, unmoving, her green eyes staring without seeing. Remus turned to Sirius, hatred etched onto his pale, suddenly twenty-one-year old face. "It wasn't me!" Sirius shouted. "No, Moony, I wouldn't! I didn't kill them! I'm innocent, I swear!"_

Sirius Black's eyes snapped open and he sat up, panting. "I swear," he whispered, fully awake now. A feeling of loss crept over him as it did whenever he thought of James and Lily. He doubted he'd ever get over their deaths but he thought, in time, he could at least accept it if the Dementors would leave him alone, if they would stop reminding him of the emptiness that resided in the place where his heart had used to be.

He got to his feet ignoring the wasted feelings in his arms and legs. He tried to exercise as much as possible; when he wasn't sleeping, he was pacing. His cell was seven strides from one wall to the other and he knew every dull, grey brick, every rust spot on his iron barred doors and every speck of dirt or dust that covered the ground. "Innocent," he muttered as he walked.

The woman in the cell opposite his cackled, pressing her gaunt face up against her cell bars. Sirius paused to give her a pitying look – she'd only been there a month and was already insane – and then turned and strode back the other way.

On the seventh trip up his cell, he paused to pick up his sharp rock and used it to etch another small line into the wall behind him. There were two-thousand, six-hundred and fifty-one – now fifty-two – marks on the wall.

The human guards thought he was mad – after all, he'd been imprisoned exactly two-thousand, six-hundred and _fifty_ days – and though they'd tried, they hadn't yet been successful in figuring out what the extra two marks represented. If they'd asked, Sirius would have told them the marks were a record of the number of days that he and James and Lily had been apart, but they hadn't asked and Sirius had been left to dwell on his memorial to the two best people he'd ever known in solitude.

"Or at least a semblance of solitude," he muttered as the woman in the cell opposite his squealed and swatted at an invisible insect; real insects tended to stay clear of Azkaban. Her shouting got louder as she smacked her arms – presumably the 'insects' were landing on her – and then began to scratch herself. Her arms, her legs, even her cheeks were red and raw by the time she came to her senses. She pressed her palm to her shin and it came away red. She screamed.

Sirius shuddered and forced himself to keep pacing, though it did little to block out the noise; her shrieking was getting other prisoners worked up. Aside from the guards, the lack of warmth and the fact that he shouldn't be there in the first place, the inconsistency was one of the things Sirius hated most about Azkaban; one moment, things were quiet, the next, what seemed like every prisoner on the island was screeching or talking to themselves. Sirius covered his ears – stone and not much else made for one hell of an echo – but he was still able to sense footsteps.

"Found her!" a dark-skinned guard called, skidding to a halt with his back to Sirius' cell. "Merlin, would you look at the mess she's made?"

His partner arrived a moment later and pocketed his wand, staring at the bleeding woman. He ran a hand through his straw coloured hair. "Doesn't Parkinson usually give her a potion or something?"

The first guard swore. "He does. It's on my desk in the guardroom."

"Reckon we need it?"

"Nah. She's mad anyway."

Both guards stared at the woman. "Godric, they creep me out."

"I'm terribly sorry. We prisoners do _try_ to be as aesthetically pleasing as possible," Sirius said dryly. His voice cracked from lack of use, but he still thought he sounded witty enough. Both guards jumped.

"Don't get smart with me, Black," the blond one said, jabbing a finger in Sirius' direction.

"Wouldn't dream of it." Sirius began to pace again.

"Mental, the lot of them," the other muttered. "Stop your pacing, Black. You're getting everyone worked up."

Sirius snorted as he walked. "It's not me. It's her-" He nodded toward the bleeding woman who was now rocking back and forward. "-the prisoners can smell the blood."

"Good Godric I hate this place," the blond said with a shudder.

"Me too," Sirius muttered.

"That's enough out of you," the blond guard snapped. "Get a Dementor, would you, Jordan? I think Black's forgotten his place." Sirius retreated to the back corner of his cell as one of the guards disappeared. "Not so brave now, are you?"

Sirius glared at him. "I happen to like my soul where it is."

"Well, aren't you a funny one," said the guard, who Sirius hated more and more with each passing second.

"Not as funny as I used to be," Sirius croaked, tracing one of the lines on his wall with a wasted finger.

"That cell," said the other guard, who had returned with a Dementor behind him. "Black." The hooded figure glided forward, wrapping one of its skeletal hands around the iron bars of Sirius' cell.

Sirius shivered, reaching for his threadbare blanket. Flashes of that night, the night his world ended, danced before his eyes. _James, glasses askew and face forever frozen in shock, Lily, pale and still, with tears not yet dry on her cheeks, Harry, crying, his little face stained with blood, Hagrid, sobbing as he patted Sirius' shoulder and took away the first of the only two people Sirius had left, and though he'd never seen it, Remus, sobbing in an office that resembled Dumbledore's when he heard what had happened... _And then his memory fogged over, leaving him with that familiar empty feeling and making him wonder if they were ever real at all. If they'd ever existed, or if they'd just been a dream. "Innocent," he whispered. "I'm innocent." _You killed them_. "No... no!"

He focused on Peter's face, the one face that would never fade from his memory, and with Peter came everything else; Lily and James – who was holding Harry – surrounded by tendrils of pale silvery magic as Peter's shrill voice promised to keep them safe, that sick feeling he'd had as he left Remus' house to check on Peter, the little smile on Peter's face as he blew up the street and the panic he'd felt when he almost hadn't got his Shield Charm up in time. "I'm innocent," he growled.

He opened his eyes and sat up, unable to recall closing them, or lying down. The guards were still there, watching him through the bars with identical, revolted expressions. The Dementor, though, appeared to have lost interest in him and floated toward the woman's cell. Her whimpers ceased and she crawled forward, reaching out to it with red-stained hands. Sirius felt the temperature drop and knew what was going to happen before it did. He looked away, swallowing bile as the Dementor drew in a rattling breath.

The guards yelled out and spun, but they weren't quick enough; the woman collapsed to the floor of her cell, a blank expression on her face. "Get back to your post," the blond guard snarled, giving the Dementor a vicious prod with his wand. The darker guard, who was retching a little ways down shivered at it glided past and, once he could stand upright again, fished around in his pocket and produced a Chocolate Frog. Sirius stared with longing as the guard stuffed it into his mouth.

"This never would have happened if Parkinson was here," he said, wiping his mouth. The smell clinging to his robes made Sirius wrinkle his nose.

"So you're saying this is my fault?"

"You did forget her potion."

The other guard let loose with a string of swear words and then unlocked the woman's cell. "Put her on her bed," he told his comrade.

"I don't think anyone deserves this," the darker guard said shakily, hoisting the woman into a sitting position.

"I don't think I deserve the paperwork that's going to come from this!" the other said angrily. Sirius was dying to hit him; a woman had been Kissed and the bastard was worried about _paperwork?! _"So where _is_ Parkinson today?"

"I heard he was having one of the Malfoy brats over for lunch. Lucky bastard-"

"Lucky? Those little beasts are a handful-"

"No, not that. I pity any bloke who has to make small talk with Lucius Malfoy's spawn. I just meant he's lucky 'cause he gets off work." The woman keeled over with a quiet moan.

"Bloody buggering- help me, would you?" The two guards grabbed an arm each and lifted the woman over to her poor excuse for a bed; it was a pile of ragged blankets and a mouldy pillow. "I don't reckon it's worth it – Parkinson getting off work, I mean," said the blond guard as he wiped his hands on his robes. "Which kid's he entertaining?"

Sirius found himself listening raptly. He didn't get news about the outside world very often. He could probably count on one hand the number of conversations he'd overheard in Azkaban, and so far, this was most interesting since he'd heard about Alice and Frank, because he actually knew who they were talking about; his cousin Narcissa had married the Malfoy heir and it seemed Lucius was just as big a git now as he had been two-thousand, six-hundred and fifty-seven days or so ago, when Sirius had last seen him.

"The older one. Hyde or something." The name stirred something in Sirius' memory. He had a vague recollection of a _Daily Prophet_ report about a year before Harry was born, about his cousin almost miscarrying her first-born son.

"Ah, yes. Lucius Malfoy's miracle child. The _other_ Boy-Who-Lived."

"No, he should be The-Boy-Who-Lived," said the dark-haired guard. "Potter came after."

"Potter?" Sirius asked, perking up at the familiar name.

The guards gave him smug looks as they exited the cell opposite his. "The boy who destroyed your master, Black. Didn't you ever hear what happened?"

"Of course I heard," Sirius said, retreating back into his corner. "I just didn't realise he had such a ridiculous nickname. 'Boy-Who-Lived'. James and I used to call him 'Dark Lord's Downfall'." Sirius shut his mouth then, before he could let anything about the prophecy slip.

"You've got some nerve," the blond guard spat. "Talking about _them_." Sirius wiped spittle off his cheek and turned to face the wall, tracing the lines again. Godric he missed them. The guard laughed. "That shut him up."

"He has a point, though," the second guard said. "Maybe someone _should_ give Potter a new nickname."

"Why?"

"Cause now there'll be two Boys-Who-Lived at Hogwarts, in the same year, no less."

The other laughed. "A Potter and two Malfoys... and there'll probably be a Weasley or two... the school isn't going to know what hit them!"

They both laughed at the joke – which really wasn't that funny in Sirius' opinion – and then the darker guard spoke up. "Come on. If we've got any hope of getting home at a decent hour we'd better start on that damned paperwork."

The blond guard slumped, following his companion out of Sirius' line of sight.

Sirius slept fretfully that night, if he slept at all; it was often hard to tell in Azkaban.

_He dreamed that a boy, a boy who looked just as James had at eleven - messy hair and all - came to stand outside his cell while he slept. In the dream, Sirius woke and the boy looked at him with disappointed eyes - which were flickering between James' hazel and Lily's green - as he ran a finger over the bars of the cell. "You've failed me," he said, scratching at a piece of rust._

_"No," Sirius said. _Damn those bloody guards for talking about James and Harry_. "No, please!"_

_"Failed," the boy, who could have been James or his godson – and frankly, Sirius didn't know which scared him more – repeated. And then, he turned and walked away._

_Sirius didn't think; he leapt to his feet, determined to follow, no matter the cost. He transformed into Padfoot and stuck his head through the bars of his cell. The boy vanished around a corner. He whined and wriggled his body through the bars. _Wait!_ he thought as orange flakes of rust were prised off the bars and fluttered to the ground like snow or embedded themselves in his shaggy fur. He changed back on the outside and looked around for the boy. "Wait!" he shouted again._

_"It's too late for that," he heard._

_"No, damn you! Wait!" Sirius shouted. He forced his wasted muscles to move and after his eighth step, a small part of his mind noted – even if he was dreaming - it was the furthest he'd walked in a straight line in seven years._

_"Failed..."_

_"Wait!"_

Sirius woke up with a yell. He was standing waist deep in cold, salty water. "What the hell?" He stared at his sopping clothes and, after employing more of his favourite swear words, clambered back onto the rocky ground where he collapsed, shivering.

_All right,_ he told his racing mind. _All right, so I had a dream, where I broke out of my cell as a dog and then I wake up and I'm out and just about ready to swim back to shore. Either I'm free, or I've lost my mind. _He found himself leaning toward the latter, but that didn't explain why his thoughts were clearer than they had been in years or why he was wet... _So I'm free then..._

"How the bloody hell did that happen?" he asked the overcast sky. It disdained to answer. Sirius scowled and then decided he didn't care. What mattered was that he was free. And that he wasn't going back to his cell. Ever. Partially because he doubted he'd be able to find it again, and partially because he didn't _want_ to find it again. _I need to get off the island somehow..._

_Wand,_ was his next coherent thought. _Before I can do anything, I need a wand. My wand._ And he knew how to get it.

One of the most strictly enforced Wizarding Laws stated that a wand – being an incredibly powerful and, at times, volatile, magical object – once in the custody of an Auror or Hit-Wizard, could not be destroyed without a court order. Another curious fact about this particular law was that it was not public knowledge. Only those who had been trained in either Wizarding Law or Wizarding Law Enforcement were supposed to know, because it was such an effective threat.

When Sirius graduated from Hogwarts, he and James had joined the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, where they studied for a year and a half to become Aurors. Usually, it took three years to get through the rigorous Auror Training Program, but with help from Mad-Eye, a lot of sleepless nights and the fact that the Wizarding world was at war and the Ministry needed everyone available to be fighting, Sirius – along with James – had been able to do it in half the time.

Because of this training, it just so happened that Sirius knew of the laws regarding wand-snapping, and because of an arsehole named Bartemius Crouch, is just so happened that Sirius filled the requirements; he had been denied any form of trial and whisked off to Azkaban by the next available Portkey, which meant his wand should have been filed away in the prison guardroom with the short-term prisoners' belongings...

Without conscious thought – he suspected it was very much a survival instinct by this point – Sirius transformed. A few minutes later, at the entrance to Azkaban's guardroom, a huge, black, bear-like dog that was thin to the point of emaciation, slipped past a pair of Dementors.

Another ten minutes saw Sirius back down on the rocky beach, pocketing a thin wooden stick and a small mirror that he had had in his pocket when he was arrested. He'd already tried to call James with it and he'd seen a glimpse of James' smiling face before it became too much and he ended the connection.

He hadn't bothered trying to Apparate; there would likely be wards against it, and even if there weren't, his mind wasn't focused enough for him to do it without Splinching himself. _Looks like I'm swimming after all,_ he thought grimly as he transformed back into Padfoot. It really wasn't that far – he could see land from where he was - but the water was rough and there was so much of it, and it was so open...

He shook himself. Seven years. Seven years, he'd spent, locked up for a crime he hadn't committed. In fact, he'd probably done enough time in prison to compensate for every bad thing he'd ever done, thought about doing, or would do in the future. While he wouldn't have ever broken out on his own, there was no way he'd willingly go back to life in that hell-hole when freedom was so close.

There hadn't been much point in him escaping before now, or even trying to; Peter was probably cowering under a rock somewhere where Sirius would never find him, or he would be as soon as he heard that he'd broken out, Harry – who Hagrid had said was going to Lily's sister Petunia – was probably counting down the years he had left until he could go to Hogwarts, and Remus... since he hadn't visited or made any attempts to contact Sirius, probably didn't know that Peter was the traitor and, Sirius guessed, would have spent the last seven years mourning Lily, James and the rat and dwelling on his hatred for Sirius.

_I'll have to find them,_ Sirius thought. _Harry, to see if he's happy, Peter, to prove I'm innocent and once I've done that I can find Moony, to explain everything, to apologise..._ _And that's not going to happen if I don't get my arse off this bloody rock._

Sirius took a deep breath and waded out into the murky water.

* * *

"Mrs Peterson!"

"What, Dudley?"

"Harry's copying my worksheet!"

Mrs Patricia Peterson had been a teacher at St Grogory's Primary School for seventeen years. Since eleven of these years had been spent in the same classroom teaching Year Four children, it was safe to say Mrs Peterson had seen her fair share of eight-and-nine-year-olds. She had thought herself well-equipped to deal with any child. And then she had met Harry Potter.

"Potter, are you copying your cousin's worksheet?"

"No, Mrs Peterson," the boy said quietly.

"Don't lie," Dudley told his cousin.

"Says you," Potter muttered. Mrs Peterson couldn't for the life of her remember when she'd started addressing the boy as 'Potter' instead of 'Harry'. She supposed she had picked it up from the rest of the class and, since it didn't seem to make a difference to the boy, she hadn't bothered to correct herself.

"Mrs Peterson!" Dudley wailed, scrunching up his round face.

"That's enough!" Mrs Peterson gave Linda back her worksheet and walked over to the boys' desk. "Dudley, you don't need to keep shouting at me because I was already listening and, Potter, I've told you I won't tolerate lying in my classroom." Some of the other students sniggered as Potter flushed.

"I'm not lying, Mrs Peterson," he said, staring up at her with those big, bespectacled green eyes.

How a child could look so pitiful while being such a monster was beyond her, but somehow, Potter pulled it off. He was unnaturally polite, which she didn't buy for a moment; the boy was probably trying to win her over as he had won Mrs Baddams last year. "Worksheet," she said briskly, holding out her hand.

He passed it over without a word. She checked it, noting the lack of working out and passed it back. "Detention today at lunch," she said. Dudley sniggered. Potter, if it was possible, looked relieved and nodded.

"Dudley, worksheet," she said. He passed it to her and found the answers the same as the Potter boy's had been, also with no working out. "Excellent work as usual. Yes, Katrina?" She saw Potter's hand tighten around his pencil as she walked away.

She gave them five more minutes to work on their maths problems. "You can do the rest for homework," she told the class. "Now, who's going to write the best story?" Everyone looked at Katrina, who blushed and ducked her pig-tailed head. "You have one hour to write and the topic is... wishes. Get started." She retreated to her desk as pencils started scratching on desk-tops.

Mrs Peterson watched her class with a warm smile. Felicity would no doubt write something about horses, Malcolm was fond of stories about football stars, while Linda like dancers and Hannah liked cats. She was almost excited to read their stories; under her careful eye, the quality of her students' writing had improved significantly and the absence of bothersome spelling and grammatical errors made reading their work almost enjoyable.

Mrs Peterson watched them all for a moment longer- smiling at the way Gordon pulled a face every time he had to erase something and the way Hannah sighed and rubbed graphite off her left hand every so often – before she pulled her copy of _Oliver Twist_ out of her desk drawer. It was one of her favourite books, though, as a teacher, it broke her heart to see Oliver – even if he was just a character – living in such horrible conditions; little food, no family and forced into what could only be described as slavery... it made her cry every time.

"Mrs Peterson?"

"Hmm? Oh, yes, Gordon?"

"It's past an hour," the boy said, sucking on the end of his pencil. She became aware that most of the class had put their pencils down and were watching her. Potter, at the back of the classroom, was the only one not looking in her direction. He was reading his story with a funny expression she couldn't quite place.

"So it has," she said marking the page. "I expect good things from these," she said as she collected them, "since I gave you an extra fifteen minutes. Thank you, dear. If you've given me your story, you can go to lunch." With a collective whoop, her class charged out, leaving Potter sitting in his chair. "Story," she said holding out an impatient hand.

"What would you like me to do?" he asked.

"Lines today," she said with a sigh as she straightened the pile of stories. "'I will not copy other people's work'. Twenty times should do it and then you can go to lunch."

"Yes, Mrs Peterson," Potter said, tearing sheet of paper out of his workbook.

_Odd that he never argues... I suppose he knows it wouldn't work, or perhaps he knows he deserves it..._ She sat back down at her desk and pulled Potter's story towards her.

_Once, there was a boy called James, _Potter had written._ James lives with his mum and dad. Every morning James wakes up in his bedroom and goes to the kitchen where his mum gives him breakfast. His dad drives him to school and after school his mum and dad take him to the park. After they get home from the park, they help James with his homework. Every night, James' mum makes dinner and it tastes good. Sometimes James helps because he wants to, not because he has to. They all eat at the table together and sometimes James has second helpings. At night, they tell stories and they tuck James into his bed and tell him they love him. James tells them he loves them back and then he goes to sleep. If he has a bad dream, he gets to tell them about it and sleep in their bed until he feels better. James doesn't need to wish for anything because he already has everything._

"Potter."

"Yes, Mrs Peterson?" Potter put his pencil down and looked up.

"You don't need to call me Mrs Peterson every time we talk," she said irritably. "We've discussed this."

"Sorry, Mrs Peterson- I mean, sorry."

"Apology accepted. Come over here, please. I'd like to talk to you about your story."

"My-my story?"

"Yes, now, aside from the fact that I gave you an hour and you've barely written a paragraph, you haven't stuck to the topic. What did I say you had to write about?"

"Wishes, Mrs Peterson." So he had been listening.

"Yes, and what did you write about?"

"Wishes coming true."

"No, Potter, you didn't." Potter opened his mouth to say something and then closed it again. "You wrote about things that happen every day, when I wanted you to write about something you _wish_ could happen." Potter had the audacity to look confused. "Things that don't happen all the time," she said, trying to get him to understand.

Potter frowned. "But I don't get to spend time with my parents."

"Why not?" She knew the boy lived with his Aunt and Uncle but had always thought it was because his parents were incapable of looking after him. Mrs Peterson had heard a rumour that the father was a drunk and the mother unfaithful, a woman who wouldn't know what real love looked like if it invited itself to tea. It would certainly explain why Potter had turned out the way he had.

"They're dead."

She felt a twinge of pity for the boy she didn't particularly like. "Is that what you meant?" He nodded. "Well, I_suppose_ that counts but the rest of the story is just about your life with your Aunt and Uncle. That's not very creative."

"You think it's just like my life with-?" Potter seemed to realise he was talking out loud and stopped. "Right," he said stiffly, his jaw clenched. "Should I write it again?"

"No, no." Mrs Peterson swallowed, the phrase 'If looks could kill' running through her head as Potter glared and then walked stiffly back to his desk and sat down. "No. Another ten lines will do. 'I will follow instructions'." Potter picked up his pencil, which snapped in his hand. He looked up and jumped about a foot out of his seat, eyes wide.

"What are you looking at, Potter?"

"N-nothing," he said, not looking at her. He picked up one of his pencil halves and started to write, though he sneaked furtive glances in her direction when he thought she wasn't looking.

Mrs Peterson was midway through Piers' story about pirates when there was a knock on the classroom door. "Come in," she said without looking up. She scribbled a comment on the story – Piers was a wonderfully imaginative boy, but he did tend to write about fighting quite a lot – and pulled another piece of work over.

"Hello, Patricia, do you still have my poetry antholo-?"

"Hello, Sue, no, I don't," Mrs Peterson said looking up from Emma's story about becoming a princess. "Anne had it. Why are you staring?"

"Blue," Sue said faintly. "Why is your hair _blue?_"

"My hair?" Sue nodded. A horrible suspicion formed in Mrs Peterson's mind. "Potter!" she screeched. "What did you do?!" Potter paled, staring at her with wide green eyes, but he didn't answer. "I'll have to write home about this," she told him as Sue slipped out of the classroom, looking as if she was trying not to laugh. "Now, what did you do to my wig?!"

"I-I didn't..." Potter stammered. "I didn't touch your hai- er... wig, I swear." But he didn't look sure of that. In fact, e looked a little worried.

_You did it you little monster, I know you did, _she thought viciously. "I'm sending you home. You're to give this report to your Aunt and I'll be calling tonight to make sure you do." Potter's expression was horrified.

She pulled a pen out of her tin and wrote, _Dear Mrs Dursley,_

_I don't know how or why it happened, but your nephew has somehow managed to turn my wig blue._

_I have suspended him from this afternoon's lessons as punishment – he will need to catch up in his own time. _

_I trust you to take any extra disciplinary action you deem necessary,_

_Yours Sincerely,_

_Patricia Peterson._

She folded the paper in half and stuffed it into an envelope which she addressed to Mrs Dursley. "Here," she said, thrusting it at the now terrified Potter. "Take that home for your Aunt to read."

"Y-yes, Mrs Peterson," he stammered, placing the envelope into his schoolbag.

"And remember, I'll be calling tonight to follow it up." Potter nodded and fled.

Mrs Peterson had no way of knowing it would be the last time he ever passed under her classroom doorway.


	2. Escape From Privet Drive

"Ow! Dudley, stop!" cried the smaller of the boys who were tussling on the grass under a large tree. The blond woman with them glanced up at the sound, shifted on the park bench and slowly lowered her pale eyes back to the magazine she was reading.

The bigger boy, Dudley, tightened his grip on a chunk of his cousin's messy, black hair and gave him shake for good measure. "Make me," he sang, a grin spreading across his pink face.

Harry glanced up at his aunt, who was pointedly ignoring them and then back at his tormentor. He sighed and pinched Dudley's fat arm. His cousin howled and let go while Harry rolled away and sprang to his feet, ready to- "What did you do?" his Aunt Petunia demanded, hurrying over.

"He-He hurt me-e-e!" Dudley wailed, scrunching up his face. Aunt Petunia inspected the little red mark on his arm, kissed it better and rounded on her nephew.

"He pulled my hair," Harry said defensively.

"Perhaps if it wasn't so long, he wouldn't have been able to," she snapped. She grabbed a handful in her bony fingers and gave a tug, rather harder than her son had. Tears –real ones, not fake ones like Dudley's – sprang up in Harry's eyes. "It needs a cut. Tonight, I'll-"

"M-mum!" Dudley sobbed.

"I know, Popkin," she said, adopting a kinder tone the minute she stopped talking to Harry. "Here, up we get." Dudley reached up to her, obviously wanting to be carried. Aunt Petunia took her son's hand instead. She'd long since stopped carrying him, claiming he was too old for that. Harry suspected it had more to do with his cousin's size, and that if Dudley wasn't so fat, his Aunt would still carry him everywhere. "Don't come back until you've thought about what you've done," she called without turning. Dudley looked over his shoulder as the pair of them left the playground and gave Harry a smug look.

"Yes, Aunt Petunia," Harry muttered, kicking the grass. He swiped his tears away, made his way over to the swings and sat down, one hand wrapping around the chain, his feet making holes in the bark-chips. He already knew what he'd done wrong – he'd hurt Dudley – but there was no way he was going back to Number Four for quite some time; he knew from past experience that, the moment he got home, he'd be locked in his cupboard for the night and being bored at a playground was better than being bored at home.

"Excuse me?" Harry looked up, startled, to see a tall man – yes, it was definitely a man, even if he was wearing a dress - with shaggy, shoulder-length black hair standing next to him. The man's grey eyes were distant and intense all at once and vaguely familiar but Harry didn't know where from. "Is that seat taken?" the man asked quietly, pointing to the other swing. His voice was friendly, but scratchy as if he hadn't used it in a while; it matched the man's gaunt appearance.

"No," Harry said. "You can sit down if you like," he added, when the man made no move to do so. He was just staring at Harry, looking happy and sad at the same time.

"Thank you," the man said, sitting. Harry nodded and went back to staring at his trainers. "My name's Padfoot."

"Harry," Harry said, frowning slightly as he looked up. "Do I know you from somewhere?" he heard himself ask.

"Maybe," the man – Padfoot – said nonchalantly. "I've been on the news recently."

"Oh," Harry said. He'd heard that tone before – Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon used it when people came to the house – it meant he wasn't lying, but that he was leaving something out. "What for?"

Padfoot was quiet for a long time. "I broke out of prison," he admitted, with a sheepish smile. Harry's eyes widened. He leapt off the swing, backing away from the strange man with the strange name in his strange clothes. Harry's eyes flicked toward the general area of his house. He was fast thanks to years of practice at running away from Dudley but he didn't think he would be able to get there before Padfoot caught him. "I'm not going to hurt you, Harry," Padfoot said, patting the swing. Harry watched him warily. "I promise," Padfoot said smiling as he patted the seat again. "I just want to talk."

Harry sat, unable to help but feel a little suspicious. "Why?"

"You seem like a nice kid. Maybe we can be friends."

"Friends?" Harry asked, his eyebrows shooting up. He'd never had a friend before. Dudley had made sure of that. "But you- prison-" He was a little tempted to befriend the man, purely to see the look on his Aunt's face is he bought this criminal in his strange, dirty clothes home.

Padfoot sighed. "Have you ever been in trouble for doing something you didn't do?" Harry nodded slowly. That happened to him all the time. Once, he had been running away from Dudley and his gang and ended up on the roof of the school kitchens. He had no idea how it had happened – all he could think was that when he'd jumped to hide behind the big rubbish bins, the wind had caught him. And, only last week he'd had to take that school report home to inform the Dursleys about the incident with Mrs Peterson's wig; today was the first day since then that he'd been let out of his cupboard. "It was like that."

"Did it help that you told them you didn't?" If they were anything like the Dursleys, it wouldn't have.

"I didn't have a chance," Padfoot said, fiddling with his frayed sleeve. "No one listened because they were so bloody- er... angry," he amended with a quick glance at Harry who smirked, "and they wouldn't have believed me anyway."

"I believe you," Harry offered. Padfoot didn't seem like the sort of person who deserved to be locked up.

"Thanks, kid," Padfoot said, smiling. Harry nodded. "So, what about you? Ever broken out of prison?" Harry laughed and shook his head. His cupboard was more or less a prison but he wasn't meant to talk about it. "What do you like to do, then?"

"Er..." Harry said, "well, I cook a lot." He didn't particularly enjoy cooking – at least not for the Dursleys – but he'd rather cook than weed the garden or help Dudley tidy his spare bedroom.

"Do you read?" Padfoot asked. "Play any sports?"

Harry hesitated. He was always picked last in team games – just last week, Ben Forster who had a broken arm had been chosen before him – and he was always the first one out in games like dodge-ball, not due to lack of skill, but because Dudley and his gang always targeted him first, even if they were on the same side. "I suppose I like sports but I don't get to play very often and Dudley doesn't read so we don't have many books."

"Why don't they buy you your own books?" Padfoot asked slowly. Harry shrugged. Padfoot stared at him. "Your clothes," he said finally, running a hand over his chin, "were they Dudley's?" Harry nodded, plucking a loose strand off his too-big jumper. "Do you have anything that's yours?"

"There's nothing wrong with hand-me-downs," he said dutifully repeating Aunt Petunia's words. He started to kick the bark-chips again.

"Never said there was," Padfoot said quickly. He was quiet for a bit and then asked, "If you could have one thing – anything – what would it be?"

Harry, who'd never been asked such a question before wasn't quite sure what to say. He took a moment to think about his answer and then said, "My parents." He didn't really mind that he was talking to a complete stranger. Padfoot watched him sadly. "They died in a car crash when I was a baby."

"C-car-crash?" Padfoot choked. "A car crash?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "I don't remember it but that's where I got my scar." He brushed his fringe aside but Padfoot didn't look, which was odd. Most people Harry met seemed fascinated by it, even if he didn't show it first. Harry felt himself liking Padfoot more by the moment. He, aside from Mrs Figg, was the only person who didn't treat him like dirt, or, alternatively, with awe, neither of which Harry particularly liked.

"Car crash?" Padfoot said again, louder this time. Harry couldn't quite place his tone, but at a guess, he would have said he was shocked and maybe even angry. "They told you it was a car crash?!" Harry nodded apprehensively; he'd spent enough time around his cousin and Uncle to recognise a tantrum brewing. Padfoot stood suddenly. "Are you coming?" he asked, already striding across the grass.

Harry got up and followed after a moment's hesitation; he'd expected yelling – what for he didn't quite know – and he didn't quite know what to make of this calm fury. "Where are we going?"

"Your house," Padfoot said briskly.

"My-my house?" Harry repeated, just to make sure he'd heard right.

Padfoot didn't answer; he was muttering about something called Dumbledore and stupid muggles, neither of which made any sense to Harry. He walked without talking all the way down Magnolia Road – Harry jogging to keep up – then hesitated on the corner of Magnolia Crescent. "Which way now?" he asked.

"I'm not supposed to bring strangers home," Harry said.

"I know your aunt," Padfoot said impatiently. "Petunia, isn't it? Tall, skinny woman. Married to Vernon, a fat bloke with no neck and an ugly moustache."

"That's them," Harry said, trying not to laugh. He led Padfoot – who was still muttering about car crashes - down Magnolia Crescent, through the side alley onto Wisteria Walk and then onto Privet Drive. At this point Padfoot seemed to recognise the street and led Harry all the way to Number Four's driveway. He paused by the door and then, with an oddly triumphant look, jabbed the doorbell.

"James didn't even own a damn car!" he growled as they waited.

"James?" Harry said. "Wait, did you know my-?"

"Took you long enough!" he heard Aunt Petunia say as the locks on the door clicked. "Go apologise to Diddy and then you can go and stir the- Oh!" she said, as she opened the door and saw Padfoot. Her pale eyes narrowed as they drifted over his unusual clothes, and then up to his face. Aunt Petunia _never_ forgot a face. "What did you do?" she hissed, spotting Harry who froze in the driveway.

"I d-" Harry stammered.

"A car crash?" Padfoot said softly. Aunt Petunia paled. "You told him that Lily and James died in a car crash?"

"Get inside," she snapped, jabbing a bony finger at Harry. "Go to your cu- room," she said, her eyes flicking to Padfoot. "That Dumbledore man promised your kind would leave us alone. You aren't welcome here." Harry, who was walking very slowly toward the door, - trying to hear as much as possible - wondered who or what Padfoot's 'kind' was.

"I'm not welcome in a lot of places at the moment," Padfoot said, folding his arms.

"Inside!" Aunt Petunia snapped at Harry, who had just bent to tie his shoelace to buy himself more time to listen.

"They didn't even own a car!" Padfoot said, throwing his arms up in the air.

"I'll call the police," she told him.

"Try," Padfoot said, twirling a long wooden stick – which he'd pulled from somewhere in his clothes - between his long fingers.

"Put that away," Aunt Petunia said, her voice shaking ever so slightly. "I don't want any of... of... _that_ here."

"Any of what?" Harry asked.

"I said inside!" she shrieked. Mrs Farey from Number Seven across the street looked up. Harry scampered into the house, ducking the swipe she aimed at his ear. "You too," Aunt Petunia said to Padfoot. "I'm not discussing this out here." Harry darted down the hallway and into his cupboard. He closed the door most of the way but left a small crack which he pressed his ear to. "And make sure you wipe your shoes on the mat. You're filthy."

"A car crash?" Harry heard Padfoot say loudly as soon as the front door clicked shut.

"Keep your voice down," Aunt Petunia snapped. "Yes, we told the boy it was a car crash. What else were we supposed to say? That a lunatic blew them up?" Harry's hand moved up to trace the lightning-bolt scar on his forehead. _Blew them up_..._?_

"That's exactly what you should have told him! He has a right to know why he's living here, a right to know why his parents are dead! They _died_ to save him and you told him it was an accident?!" Harry took a deep breath and realised with a jolt he'd stopped breathing.

"We didn't have a choice," Aunt Petunia said frostily. "We want him normal, like Dudley." There was no doubt who she was talking about. "Telling him stories like that would make him wonder why they were killed and we don't like questions. He'd push us and we'd have to tell him the whole freaky story, about my unnatural sister, the Snape boy and that wretched Potter."

"And what's wrong with that?" Padfoot demanded.

"I not having any of that in this house," Aunt Petunia said shrilly. "When we took him in, we swore to put a stop to all of that freakish nonsense. Telling him things like that would encourage unnatural behaviour and-"

"What about when he goes to Hogwarts?" Padfoot asked. "Everyone knows his story, everyone but him, apparently-"

"That doesn't matter. He's not going."

"Not going?!" Padfoot shouted sounding angry again. "What in the name of Merlin's toenails do you mean he's not bloody going?!"

"I won't have one in the house," Aunt Petunia said, with an air of finality.

"You can't just decide that. You can't just ignore it and hope it'll all go away."

"It seems to be working well so far," Aunt Petunia snapped, "and I'll thank you not to tell me how to raise my own nephew."

Padfoot's reply was lost in the sound of the front door flinging open. "Evening, Petunia dea-" Harry heard his uncle say. "Who's this?"

"I'm a friend of Lily's," Padfoot said before Aunt Petunia could say anything. "We've met before-"

"You!" Uncle Vernon roared. Harry could tell, just from the volume of his voice that his face was already purple. "You! Get out of my house!"

"I've come to talk to you about Harry," Padfoot said calmly.

"Get out!" Uncle Vernon bellowed again. "BOY!" Harry jumped at being addressed, lost his footing and tripped out of his cupboard, landing sprawled in the hallway. He stared at the glossy black shoes in front of him and slowly looked up to see his Uncle's purple face. _I knew it,_ he thought dazedly. "What did you do?!"

"Nothing," Harry said hastily, scrambling to his feet.

"What did you tell him?!" Uncle Vernon shouted, spraying Harry with spittle. His meaty hand grabbed Harry's baggy shirt and gave him a shake.

"Enough!" Padfoot shouted. There was a bang and Uncle Vernon released Harry with a yell and stepped back, cradling his now very red fingers. Harry took a step back and straightened his glasses. Padfoot looked furious, but not, Harry didn't think, at him. "You and your wife," he snarled at Uncle Vernon, "out. I need to talk to Harry."

"This is my house!" Uncle Vernon shouted, his moustache quivering. "You can't tell me what to do!"

"Oh, I think I can," Padfoot growled, twirling his stick. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon gave both Harry and Padfoot one last look of pure hatred and stalked down the hall and into the kitchen. "Are you all right?" Padfoot asked Harry, tucking the stick into a pocket of his dress.

"I'm fine."

Padfoot didn't look convinced but he didn't push the point. "How much did you hear?" he asked.

"Something about a car crash but not much else," said Harry, not meeting Padfoot's grey stare.

"I could always tell when James was lying and you've inherited his face," Padfoot said conversationally. "How much did you really hear?"

"All of it," Harry admitted sheepishly.

"I thought so." Padfoot sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. "This is not going the way I thought it would," he muttered before letting out another sigh.

"You planned this?" Harry asked doubtfully.

"Planned? Nah, I just- It wasn't- You were supposed to be happy," he sighed. "You were supposed to be playing pranks on your Aunt and Uncle with your cousin! You were supposed to know all about your mum and dad! You were supposed to be excited, because you've only got two and a half years until Hogwarts!"

"Sorry," Harry said quickly.

"It's not your fault," Padfoot said, looking shocked. "It's theirs." He jabbed a finger in the direction of the kitchen, where Harry could hear his Aunt and Uncle arguing. "They want you to be 'normal'... What a load of hippogriff dung."

"Hippo-what?"

"Hippogriff- Never mind." Padfoot began to mutter under his breath about 'James', 'Lily', 'Dursley', 'Dumbledore' and 'Aurors'.

"Erm... Mr Padfoot...?"

Padfoot blinked and then laughed. "Just Padfoot, Harry."

"Did you really know my parents?"

Padfoot looked down at Harry with a sad smile. "You look a lot like your dad, you know," he said, "but you have your mum's eyes."

"Really?" Harry asked, hoarding this knowledge away.

Padfoot nodded and pulled a small mirror out of his pocket. "James Potter," he said softly and then turned it toward Harry. The mirror was clearly not a mirror. Harry decided it was a sort of pocket television - though he didn't know how that was possible, since every telly he'd ever seen was bulky - because when he looked into it, he saw his father. James Potter was a handsome, messy-haired man with a long nose, bright hazel eyes and a happy, friendly smile. James waved and then turned to laugh at someone Harry couldn't see. "Can I see my mum too?"

"It doesn't work like that, kiddo," Padfoot said apologetically.

Harry was a little disappointed but he nodded. He'd seen a few photographs of his mother when he helped Aunt Petunia clean out the attic, but she'd been younger than he was in most of them. "What were they like?"

"Lily was... well, she was brilliant. Beautiful inside and out and probably the nicest person I've ever met, though she did have a bit of a temper. James... was funny and brave... stubborn too. Bit of a prat at times but aren't we all? He was the best friend anyone could ever have."

"Were you close?"

"They were my family," Padfoot croaked. He cleared his throat loudly and was quiet for a moment. Harry waited patiently. "Your dad and I were so close people thought we were brothers, and your mum and I had a rocky start but she was like my sister by the end."

"So are we related?" Harry asked.

Padfoot smiled. "Second cousins – your great grandparents are the same as mine; Cygnus and Violetta Black." He swallowed, looking decidedly nervous. "I'm also your godfather... They - your mum and dad – wanted me to look after you if anything ever happened to them. But then, well, I was arrested and Dumbledore brought you here."

"But now you're free," Harry said, wondering if Padfoot was saying what he thought he was saying.

"Not free," Padfoot said, "but I am out of prison." He stared at his feet for a long time and then looked up again, seeming agitated. "Under normal circumstances, I'd never ask this; you're – what – eight and a half? And I'm trying to evade Aurors and the rest of the Ministry, but if you want... another home-"

"Another home?" Harry asked, his voice climbing an octave. "As in, away from the Dursleys?"

"It's fine if you don't want to," Padfoot said quickly.

"I want to!" Harry half-shouted.

"Really?" Padfoot asked, beaming. Harry nodded emphatically. "Are you sure? I don't know what state the house is in yet, and it might be dangerous – like I said, there are people after me-"

"I want to," Harry said, hardly believing what he was hearing. He'd always dreamed that an unknown relative would come and take him away and now, Padfoot, his dad's best friend, was offering to do just that.

"I have no idea what to do with a kid," Padfoot continued. "Moony always said I'd make a terrible father..."

"You can't be any worse than the Dursleys," Harry said bluntly.

Padfoot grinned a little ruefully. "I guess not." He paused, running a hand over his cheeks. "Merlin, this visit is definitely not going the way I thought it would."

"What...?"

"I was going to come and see you," Padfoot admitted, "maybe get to know you a bit. And then I was going to go into hiding while I figured out how to make everyone else see that I'm innocent. After that I would have come back and made you the same offer as I am now."

"I can help you prove you're innocent," Harry said.

"I appreciate the gesture, Harry," he said with a snort, "but me adopting you is going to look pretty bad. Everyone will think I've kidnapped you for Voldemort-"

"_Who?_"

Padfoot sighed. "I keep forgetting you don't know, but I don't have time to tell you now. I need to leave before someone sees me here and calls the D.M.L.E.-"

"The what?" Harry asked.

"Department of Magical Law Enforcement," Padfoot said. He waved a hand to cut off Harry's exclamations of "Magic!" and "You can't say that word here; Uncle Vernon hates it". "If you're coming, you'd better pack." Harry pulled open the door of his cupboard. "I-is that a bed?" Padfoot spluttered, peering in. Harry shrugged, grabbed his rucksack and started tossing clothes into it. "You-They make you sleep in here?"

Harry shrugged again, stuffing a pair of Uncle Vernon's old socks into a pocket. "I'm ready," he announced a moment later, hoisting his rucksack on.

Padfoot was staring at the spider in the corner of the roof. He shook himself. "Here, let me," he said, reaching for Harry's bag. Harry stared at him. "Here," Padfoot said impatiently. Harry passed it over with a curious look at his godfather. Padfoot slung it over his shoulder and led Harry down the hall and into the kitchen.

Dudley was playing with Glen, his tortoise; the poor creature was currently being flown over Dudley's empty plate, accompanied by noises better suited to a rocket-ship than a reptile. Aunt Petunia hadn't touched her food at all, but kept sipping at her glass of water, while Uncle Vernon – whose plate was empty – drummed his thick fingers on the table. All three of them looked up at Harry and Padfoot.

"Leaving are you?" Aunt Petunia said waspishly, her pale eyes darting over Padfoot.

"Yes."

"About time," Uncle Vernon grumbled.

"I'm taking Harry with me."

"Taking the boy?" Aunt Petunia said, sounding puzzled. "Where?"

"I'm going to live with him," Harry said.

"You can't."

"I'm his godfather," Padfoot said indignantly. "If he wants to live with me, you can't stop him." Aunt Petunia's lips thinned. Her chair scraped as she stood and left the room. Everyone watched her go. She returned about thirty seconds later with a pink tinge in her cheeks and a crumpled letter which she handed to Padfoot. She sat down again, studiously avoiding Uncle Vernon's eyes. Padfoot read the letter quickly and then passed it back. "I'm still taking him." Dudley, who was craning his neck to try to read it slipped off his seat. Harry turned his laugh into a cough and swore he saw his godfather's mouth twitch.

"But the protection... he won't be safe..." Aunt Petunia said, looking at Harry.

"I can take care of him," Padfoot said, resting a hand on Harry's shoulder.

Aunt Petunia pursed her lips as though she doubted this but all she said was, "I suppose I'll need to call Mrs Figg and tell her you won't be coming over tomorrow."

"We won't be sending you money," Uncle Vernon said. "If you want the boy, you can pay for him."

"Money won't be a problem," Padfoot assured them. He looked down at Harry. "Would you like a minute to say goodbye?"

"Bye," Harry told the Dursleys. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Padfoot press his lips together to keep from laughing.

"So, wait... you're leaving?" Dudley said, picking himself up off the floor.

"Yep," Harry said.

Dudley frowned and then stuck out his pink hand. "Bye, then."

Harry shook it feeling rather silly. "Yeah, bye. Bye, Glen," he added for good measure as Aunt Petunia flung her arms around her son.

"I think I'm going to be sick," Padfoot muttered over Aunt Petunia's wailed praise for Dudley's manners. "All set, kid?" Harry grinned, nodding. The two of them left the kitchen followed by Uncle Vernon who was humming under his breath and looked as if he might break out in a jig at any moment. As they walked down the familiar hallway, Harry took one last glance at his cupboard and smiled slightly. Padfoot followed his gaze. "You sure this is everything?" he asked, tapping the strap of Harry's rucksack.

"Pretty sure," Harry said, grinning. He was leaving Privet Drive! It was actually happening! He cast a quick look at his Uncle who opened the front door, looking the happiest Harry had ever seen him. Harry followed Padfoot outside and turned, racking his brain for something to say; what did one say at the end of seven and a half years of mutual dislike? _Thank you, maybe...?_ Harry thought. _But for what? _No sooner than Harry opened his mouth to say 'Bye' again, Uncle Vernon snapped the door closed. _Well that makes things easier._

"Git," Padfoot muttered with a dark look at Number Four. "Ah, well. Not our problem anymore." Harry took one last look at Number Four before following Padfoot down his Aunt's perfectly kept garden path. "Are you hungry or can you wait?"

"I can wait," Harry said shrugging.

"Excellent." He sighed loudly. "I wasn't going to worry about it but I've got you now... I think we'll have to go to Gringotts before we do anything. I'm just about out of money and security's going to get tighter once they realise I've got you... How to get there...?"

"Get where?"

"London," Padfoot said with a grin that lit up his thin face. "More specifically, Diagon Alley."


	3. Gringotts Wizarding Bank

"Die-where?"

"Diagon Alley," Padfoot laughed. "It's where Gringotts is."

"Gringotts?"

"The bank. Just wait up a moment." Padfoot stopped and pulled his stick out of his pocket. He started talking to himself in another language – one that sounded made up in Harry's opinion – and then tapped his arm.

"How did you do that?!" Harry asked, astonished. Padfoot was now blonde with blue eyes and a rounder face than he had had before.

"Hold still," Padfoot said, tapping Harry's head.

"What do I look like?" Harry asked excitedly. Padfoot waved his stick again and a mirror appeared. Harry took it, surveying his new face. His hair was as messy as ever, but it was a light brown colour and his eyes were blue instead of green. "How did you do that?" Harry asked again.

"Magic," Padfoot said, twirling his stick.

"Magic's not real," Harry said automatically. _But how else could he have done all those things? _a little voice in his head argued.

"Why not?" Padfoot asked reasonably.

"Just... because," Harry finished lamely.

"It's real," Padfoot promised.

Harry watched him, not quite convinced. "Can you show me more?"

Padfoot thought for a moment, had a quick look around and then waved his stick.

"_Wingardium Leviosa._" Harry felt the ground vanish beneath his feet. He looked down and noticed, with a quiet shout of surprise, that he was floating. He was well above Padfoot's head and when he kicked his feet all they touched was air. "Believe me yet?" Padfoot asked, grinning. Harry nodded, not sure he trusted himself to speak, and felt himself slowly being lowered to the ground. "Good, because I might have had to leave you there otherwise."

Harry laughed shakily. "So you're a..."

"A what?"

"...wizard?" Harry said quietly.

"I am."

"And is that a wand?" He stared at the wooden stick with newfound respect.

"It is."

"Can I try?" he blurted.

"With my wand?" Padfoot thought for a moment and then shrugged. "Sure."

Harry accepted it gingerly, half expecting it to bite him. "What do I do?"

"Try... say '_Lumos'_."

"_Lumos_," Harry said. There was a tiny white light at the tip of Padfoot's wand, so small he could hardly see it. "Is that what it's supposed to do?"

"Usually it's bigger," Padfoot said, shrugging, "but my wand's always been unpredictable for other people."

"_Lumos_," Harry said again, giving it a wave. The wand tip lit up until it was almost blinding.

"'_Nox_'!" Padfoot said, shielding his eyes.

"_Nox!_" Harry said quickly. The wand extinguished, as did all the streetlights within thirty feet of them. Harry pressed the wand back into Padfoot's hand.

"You're going to be one hell of a wizard," Padfoot said shaking his head.

"I'm not a wizard," Harry said. Padfoot's lips twitched, as if he knew something Harry didn't. "I can't be!"

"Really? You've never made anything strange happen before, done something you couldn't explain later?"

Harry's eyes widened. "_That's_ magic?"

Padfoot grinned. "Probably. You can tell me all about it on the way to London. Stand back."

"How _are_ we getting to London?" Harry asked as Padfoot stuck out his wand. "Do you have a magic car?"

With a loud bang, a purple, triple-decker bus materialised. Harry stared at it with wide eyes. "Not quite," Padfoot said casually. "Two please," he said, passing a giant gold coin and four silver ones to the squat, neatly shaven man who'd just emerged from the bus.

"But-" Harry stammered, staring at the bus that had appeared from nowhere. "But-"

"Later," Padfoot promised.

"Thank you, sir," the man wheezed, pocketing Padfoot's strange money. "Welcome to the Knight Bus. I'm Jeremy Phillips and I'll be your conductor this evening. Where is it you gentlemen are headed?"

"London. The Leaky Cauldron," Padfoot said. "Come on, kid." Harry stumbled onto the bus after his godfather, unable to help but smile a little. While the Dursleys had called him 'boy' to avoid saying his name, Padfoot addressing him as 'kid' was done with the same inflection as 'Harry' and wasn't malicious at all. It was nice, Harry thought, to be addressed like a human being.

"Have you got any luggage?"

"Just this," Padfoot said, shrugging a shoulder to show Harry's rucksack.

"Any preference about seating?"

"We won't be sleeping... somewhere we can talk without interrupting other passengers would be brilliant."

"Follow me," Jeremy said as the bus jerked. Harry would have fallen over if Padfoot hadn't caught him. They were led up a wobbly staircase to the top storey of the bus, which had four poster beds fixed to the floor. "Take your pick," Jeremy said. "I'll be downstairs if you need me, but otherwise, enjoy your trip and I'll let you know when we arrive at the Leaky Cauldron."

"Thank you," Padfoot said, flopping onto the closest bed. Harry sat down on the one beside it. Jeremy descended the staircase with a little wave as the bus jerked again. It took off quickly, weaving through traffic that Harry was certain hadn't been on Privet Drive.

"Is this safe?" he asked, his hands fisted into the bedspread.

"It helps if you don't look out the windows," Padfoot said. Harry – who had just yelped as the bus missed a pair of runners – was inclined to agree. "So, tell me about any magic you've used." Padfoot was sitting up now, watching Harry with an expression of interest.

"Er... Okay, well," Harry said, "last week I think I turned my teacher's wig blue..."

Harry wasn't sure how long they were actually aboard the bus for, but the time passed quickly; Harry told Padfoot about Mrs Peterson and since Padfoot seemed genuinely interested, he also told him about the time he'd ended up on the kitchen roof.

"Do you remember how you got up there?" Padfoot asked once he'd stopped laughing.

Harry shook his head. "I thought it was the wind."

"I reckon you Apparated," Padfoot said thoughtfully. Harry made a face at the new word but didn't comment. He stored it away in the 'ask later' compartment of his head. "If you'd levitated yourself, you would have realised what was happening- aargh!" He flew off the bed and onto the floor with a thump as the bus stopped suddenly. Harry only avoided the same fate by grabbing hold of the bedpost.

"Leaky Cauldron, London!" Jeremy shouted up the stairs.

"That's us," Padfoot said gingerly, pushing himself off the ground. Harry kept his expression carefully blank, not wanting to laugh. Padfoot noticed. "Oh, go on," he said with a grin. "It must have looked stupid."

"No, it... well, yeah," Harry admitted, trying and failing to choke back a laugh as he scooped his rucksack up.

"Thought so," Padfoot said with a grin as he led Harry down the narrow spiral staircase.

"Thanks," Harry said to Jeremy as they hopped of the bus and into the chilly February night.

"Have a good night." The Knight Bus vanished with a bang that made Harry jump backward.

"This way," Padfoot said, his mouth twitching.

"Just laugh," Harry said, falling into step beside him. "You let me, before."

But Padfoot didn't. Instead, he smiled. "You're so much like Lily."

Harry beamed. _I'm like my mum... _he thought happily. _I look like Dad, but with Mum's eyes and personality..._ It was strange to be so excited about being compared to people that - before tonight - he'd known nothing about. People were always telling Dudley he was like Uncle Vernon, and while Harry had always laughed – he'd hate to be compared with his Uncle – he'd always been a touch jealous too, that Dudley was like one of his parents.

"Where are you going, Harry?" Padfoot asked. Harry spun and saw his godfather standing ten paces back, struggling to keep a straight face.

"To Dragon Alley?"

"Diagon," Padfoot said, definitely laughing now. "Come here." Harry walked back and gave his godfather a sheepish smile before he was steered through the door of a dingy looking pub. Inside smelled vaguely of smoke, and since it was almost dinner time, was full of noisy patrons. "Welcome to the Leaky Cauldron," Padfoot muttered, keeping a hand on Harry's shoulder as they made their way through the masses of people.

"What is _that?!_" Harry whispered, staring at a short creature with a long nose, pointed ears and sharp, black eyes.

"A goblin," Padfoot muttered. "Don't stare, don't stare, they don't like- Nope, he's seen us." The goblin smiled to reveal pointed, white teeth and waved one long fingered hand in their direction. Padfoot waved back, shuddering. "They're scary and they know it," he told Harry as they wove through the crowd. "Very professional though, goblins," he said. "And lucky for us, too."

"What do you mean?"

Padfoot thought for a minute. "The less you know, Harry," he said quietly, "the safer you are. At least for now," he added when Harry's expression darkened. "I've got a _lot_ to explain to you, but now isn't the time. Excuse me," he said gruffly. A woman muttered something and stepped aside. Padfoot guided Harry into a small, walled courtyard, empty save for a rubbish bin and a haughty-looking cat. Harry cast a dubious look around as Padfoot stepped forward. "I can never remember the combination," he grumbled, prodding the wall with his wand.

"Combination?"

"You need it to get into Diagon Alley. Three up... one across or two...?" Padfoot muttered. He was quiet for a moment and then, "Oh, yes. Got it. Stand back, Harry." He lifted his wand and then stopped. He turned back to Harry with a speculative look on his face. "Once we're in Diagon Alley, I need you to stay close, all right?" Harry nodded. "Keep calling me Padfoot, if you have to introduce yourself, don't mention your last name – I'll explain later," he said with a grimace. "And, no matter what happens, do _not_ let anyone see your scar." Harry's hand moved up to trace the familiar shape on his forehead. "Other than that, we should be fine; hopefully, no one knows I've got you yet and we can be gone before they're any the wiser."

"And then you'll explain everything?"

"Marauder's honour," Padfoot said with a wink.

Harry's eyes narrowed. "Let me guess: later?"

"Bright kid," Padfoot remarked to no one in particular as he tapped his wand on the courtyard wall. With a rumble, a brick started to shake and wriggled out of place, leaving a hole. Even as Harry watched the hole grew, and more bricks moved until he and Padfoot were standing in a huge archway. The pub was still behind him – he could still smell the pipe smoke and hear the chatter – but on the other side of the archway he could see a cobbled street winding every which way. "Welcome to Diagon Alley," Padfoot said as they stepped through.

Harry didn't know where to look first; despite the time, there were still quite a few people massing outside shops and crowding around stalls. All of them were wearing dresses like Padfoot's, and quite a few had pointy hats. Aside from that, they didn't look all that different from any other person Harry had ever seen. They certainly didn't all have long beards or warty noses, though Harry did see one austere looking woman with a bright red handbag who was clutching a toad. Behind Harry, Padfoot sighed.

"It's nice to be back," he murmured. "This way."

Harry followed a little reluctantly, keen to have a look around. He stayed close to his godfather – it would be all too easy to get lost in this – but his eyes wandered where his feet couldn't; he saw a spindly old man selling cauldrons, a pretty young witch selling protective amulets and a red-haired boy a bit older than Harry was on what appeared to be a broomstick, being chased by his mother and another boy who looked exactly the same, who was laughing as he apologised to the people the boy on the broom had knocked over. After them came two other redheaded children – a boy - who looked about Harry's age and a girl who was a bit younger, who knocked into Padfoot with a squeak.

"Sorry," said the boy as he and his sister ran past them.

"Not a problem," Padfoot said, his eyes fixed on the boy on the broomstick.

"Is he _flying?_" Harry asked, staring after the family; the mother had caught up and was shouting at her son.

Padfoot nodded and smiled a little wistfully. "That's something James and I would have done," he said staring at the sulky looking twin. "Except it would have been Moony chasing us, not James' mum."

"Moony?"

"One of your dad's old friends," Padfoot said, starting to walk again. Harry didn't. "He's- Harry?" Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Padfoot turn and walk back toward him. He was saying something Harry didn't hear; Harry was too busy looking at the stall selling newspapers. On the front page of every one was a picture of Padfoot – with dark hair like he had had when Harry'd first met him - below the headline '_HAVE YOU SEEN THIS WIZARD_?'. Harry didn't know whether to be more stunned by that, or by the fact that the picture was moving, like a miniature, soundless television.

"Is that you?" Harry said through numb lips when Padfoot was close enough to hear him.

"Yes. Harry-"

"What did you _do_?" Harry asked, wondering what he could have possibly done to end up on the front page of the newspaper.

"I'm innocent, remember," Padfoot said. Harry nodded automatically. "I... It's a long story," he said with a grimace, pushing his hair out of his face. Padfoot took a deep breath, looking pained. "I'll tell you now if you want me to – I don't like having to put this off any more than you do – but it'll make much more sense if you let me explain a few other things first, and I'd rather not do that here, for your sake."

Harry nodded slowly. "All right."

Padfoot sighed, and the stiff set of his shoulders relaxed. "Thanks, kiddo," he said, his voice as sincere as the hand now resting on Harry's shoulder.

"Are we going to the bank?"

Padfoot nodded. "And the sooner we're done there, the sooner we can get home."

"Which way do we go?" Harry asked.

"This way." They'd only gone another hundred paces before Harry saw the bank and wondered how he'd missed it. Gringotts – as the large golden letters above the door proclaimed – was a huge building made of snowy-white marble. Standing either side of the burnished bronze doors, wearing scarlet and gold uniforms, were goblins. Harry didn't stare this time, but his eyes did widen when they bowed them through the doors. Inside, they were faced with another pair of doors, glossy silver this time. Engraved upon them was a message which Harry paused to read:

_Enter, stranger, but take heed,_

_Of what awaits the sin of greed,_

_For those who take but do not earn, _

_Must pay most dearly in their turn._

_So if you seek beneath our floors, _

_A treasure that was never yours,_

_Thief, you have been warned, beware,_

_Of finding more than treasure there._

"What does it mean 'more than treasure'?" Harry whispered as another pair of goblins bowed them through the silver doors. Inside, a counter ran all the way around - separated only by golden doors that no doubt led to vaults – behind which sat more goblins.

"Gringotts vaults are protected by all sorts of things," Padfoot whispered back as they crossed the vast marble hall to get to a free counter; most of the other goblins were weighing gemstones or coins or writing in thick ledgers. "All sorts of hexes and wards... I think they've even got a dragon or two."

"A dragon?" Harry exclaimed and then clapped his hands to his mouth as the shout echoed. Several of the goblins looked up, their black eyes glinting. "Sorry," Harry said in what was hardly more than a whisper, yet carried to the corners of the hall. Padfoot smiled at him and together they approached a goblin.

"Excuse me," Padfoot said politely.

The goblin didn't acknowledge them; he continued writing in his book for a further minute before he finally looked up. "Yes?"

"I've come to make a withdrawal," Padfoot said.

"From which vault?" the goblin asked, showing his pointed teeth.

"My family vault," Padfoot said carefully. "The Black vault."

"Mr Black," the goblin said, looking interested. "Yes, I do see it now, even if it has been years since you were last here. I suppose you don't have access to your private vault key anymore." Padfoot stayed quiet and Harry followed his example. The goblin smiled nastily. "I'm a little surprised you've come at all... surely you know there's a reward for your capture?"

"I'm not here to make trouble," Padfoot said in a quiet but firm tone. "I came to get my gold and leave." The goblin said nothing. Padfoot frowned. "I wouldn't have come at all if I'd realised how much things had changed."

"Changed how?" the goblin asked, twining his long fingers together.

"I never thought I'd meet a goblin more interested in wizarding affairs than in the satisfaction of an old client," Padfoot said coolly. The goblin at the counter next to theirs made an angry noise and dropped the rubies he was holding. They scattered all over the counter and spilled onto the floor but the goblin was too busy listening to pick them up.

"Wizarding affairs are profitable these days," their goblin said with a cruel smile.

"So is helping me," Padfoot said.

"Is that a bribe, Mr Black?" the goblin asked, showing his pointed teeth again.

"If you want to be blunt. I'd call it a reward for a professional approach to a delicate situation."

The goblin smiled. "How large is this... reward?"

"It would depend on how professional you are."

"We can be very professional," the goblin promised, tracing patterns onto the pages of his ledger with one long nail.

"In that case, I'll have to insist on a permanent interest rate rise for the Black vault of say... five percent?"

The goblin's eyes widened but he quickly smoothed his expression. "Seven," he said shrewdly.

"Five," Padfoot said firmly, "as well as five percent of what I'm withdrawing today. I promise you it's a substantial amount."

"Very well." The goblin stared at him a moment longer, and then his eyes flicked down to Harry. "Follow me." The goblin hopped down from his chair and joined them at the front of the counter. On the ground, they were about the same height, though the goblin's head was almost twice as large as Harry's and his legs were only half the length.

Another goblin appeared beside them holding a bag of metal-sounding objects. "Here, Gurbock," he said passing it over.

Their goblin – Gurbock – nodded his thanks and the other goblin dashed off again. "That reminds me, I'll need bags," Padfoot said as the three of them crossed the hall.

"It'll cost you," Gurbock said, smiling in a way that made Harry shiver.

Padfoot thought for a moment, not really seeming surprised. "I'll give you a galleon for as many bags as I need," he said eventually.

"Two."

"All right," Padfoot said, winking at Harry who smiled after a moment's hesitation; he wasn't sure that he liked goblins. The goblin led them through a golden door and Harry, who had been expecting marble or something equally expensive was surprised to find they were in a narrow stone passageway, lit only by torches on the walls. Gurbock whistled and a cart came hurtling around a corner, attached to the little railway tracks Harry had just noticed on the floor. "In you get," Padfoot said, ushering Harry into the cart. Padfoot clambered in next and then the goblin and then, with no visible prompting, they were off.

Gurbock didn't steer at all – something which unnerved Harry – yet the cart navigated its way through a maze of passages. Several times, the cart dropped suddenly, or veered off sharply to one side and Harry, convinced he was about to fall out, had latched on to his godfather. Padfoot, thankfully didn't seem to mind; if he'd done the same to Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon, they probably would have saved the cart the trouble and just pushed him off. "Will we see a dragon?" Harry asked as they sped through the darkness.

"That's what clinkers are for," Padfoot answered, waving a hand at the bag in Gurbock's fist. "The older the vault, the more protection it has."

"Is yours old?"

"One of the oldest, I'd imagine," Padfoot said rather dryly, "except for goblin owned vaults."

"Quite right, Mr Black," Gurbock said approvingly as he adjusted the bag of clinkers in his lap.

After one particularly steep dip in the track that made Harry glad he hadn't eaten yet, the cart slowed to a stop beside a torch-lit platform. They climbed out, Harry a little unsteadily, and then something cold was pressed into his hand.

"Shake it," Padfoot murmured, giving him a gentle nudge. Harry did, and so did Padfoot and Gurbock and soon the little platform was echoing with a high pitched metallic ring.

"Follow me," Gurbock called, leading them down a narrow passageway Harry hadn't noticed. They passageway wasn't lit at all, though they did pass an adjoining passage which was glowing in orange light. Harry walked into the back of the goblin a few times – unable to see - before they finally came out into a circular room. Torches flared into life on the walls. There was only one door, a large, round, bronze one with _Black_ carved into it.

Gurbock walked right up to it and pressed his hand against it. With a grinding sound, the entire room spun; the vault door was now covering the entrance to the passage they'd entered through, while the vault itself was now open. Harry's mouth fell open. In one corner was a collection of expensive looking heirlooms – armour, a set of bloodstained daggers, a chest overflowing with jewellery, and leather bags the size of Harry's rucksack, all filled with rubies and diamonds and sapphires. The rest of the room – which was about as big as Number Four, Privet Drive, was filled with piles of gold, silver and bronze coins, stacked as tall as Padfoot. Right at the back of the vault was another bronze door, open only wide enough for Harry to be able to see the glint of more treasure through it.

"I'll be needing those bags, Gurbock," Padfoot said sounding a little dazed. Gurbock dug around in the pockets of his scarlet jacket and produced three leather bags, each the size of the bag he'd kept the clinkers in. "Extension charms?" Padfoot asked, accepting them.

"Each will hold around two-thousand galleons," Gurbock said. "You did say a large withdrawal, did you not?"

"Yeah," Padfoot said faintly, accepting one of the bags. "What's the conversion rate into muggle money at the moment?"

"Approximately five pounds to a galleon," the goblin said.

Harry's eyes widened and then widened again when Padfoot tossed him a bag and told him to fill it with the gold coins. Harry stared at his godfather, who stepped forward – stumbled on an emerald that was the size of his head - and scooped a whole handful of coins into his bag. After a moment, Harry followed suit, but threw in some of the silver and bronze coins too. It took them almost ten minutes to fill all three bags yet they'd hardly made a dent in the piles of treasure. Gurbock shuffled to the door, pressed his palm against it and it slid back into place, sealing Padfoot's vault.

"How much room do you have in your rucksack?" Padfoot asked.

"Dunno. A bit," Harry said.

"Do you mind if we put this-" Padfoot hefted the bags of gold, "-in there?" Harry shook his head. Padfoot opened one of the bags he was holding and took out three of the gold coins which he passed to Harry - who accepted them gingerly, aware he'd never had so much money in his life - and pocketed another three for himself. "That should be enough to see us home," he said, retying the bag. "Hold still," he said, opening the top of Harry's rucksack. Harry felt him drop the bags of coins in; not only did he hear the jingle of coins but his rucksack also tripled in weight.

"Clankers," Gurbock said importantly, dealing them out again. Harry shook his. A roar echoed through the tunnels, much closer than Harry would have liked.

"Is that a dragon?" he whispered, moving closer to his godfather. Padfoot nodded, not seeming worried at all. The three of them set off down the cramped passageway again, and when they passed the glowing tunnel, Harry swore he saw a spiny tail disappearing around a corner at the far end. Gurbock led them back to the cart and a quick ride later, they were getting out again, blinking in the torch-light.

"Here, let me," Padfoot said, shouldering Harry's rucksack as they walked up the sloped path toward the golden doors.

"Thanks," Harry said, brushing his sweaty fringe out of his face.

"Well, well," the goblin said, looking from Padfoot to Harry. He took a step closer, lifting one long nailed finger to brush a strand of Harry's hair off of his forehead. Padfoot froze. "This _is_ an unexpected turn of events."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Padfoot said stiffly.

"Oh, I'm quite sure you do." Gurbock gave Padfoot a feral smile which he then turned on Harry. "Even among goblins your story is legendary, Harry Potter."

_He knows me... I don't even look like me! _Harry stared. "How...?" he said, looking at the goblin, who was still smiling.

Padfoot had gone white, but even as Harry watched he regained colour and drew himself up to his full height. "Would you like his autograph now or the next time we visit?" Padfoot said coldly. Gurbock looked a little insulted. "Or, would you like to skip that part altogether and do your job?"

Gurbock watched them both curiously for a very long time. "This way, Mr Black," the goblin said at last, his black eyes glittering in the light of the marble hall. Padfoot looked relieved, and the instant Gurbock turned around, he gestured for Harry to flatten his fringe.

"I'd like one bag converted into muggle money," Padfoot said, his voice still cold. "And you can take your five percent from that."

Gurbock accepted the offered bag and disappeared behind the counter with it. Padfoot seemed on edge the entire time they waited and sighed in relief when the goblin returned and passed over a stack of twenty pound notes. Padfoot tucked those into a pocket in his dress. "Do you not want your key, Mr Potter?" Gurbock asked, as they turned away from the counter.

"My what?" Harry asked, frowning at the goblin.

"I think he means the key to your Gringotts vault," Padfoot said.

"I-I have a vault?"

"James and Lily wouldn't have left you with nothing," Padfoot said, shaking his head as if Harry were mad.

"You are entitled to the small fortune in vault six-hundred and eighty-seven," Gurbock said. "The contents of the Potter family vault will become available to you when you come of age."

"Er..." Harry said, looking at Padfoot, who shrugged, "I guess I'll take my key now, then, if I'm allowed to?"

"Identification won't be necessary," Gurbock said, eyeing Harry's scar. "Wait here, please." He returned a moment later carrying a small golden key. "When you wish to access your vault, present this to the goblin at the counter." Harry nodded and pocketed it. "Have a good evening," Gurbock said, with another curious look at Harry.

Padfoot nodded stiffly. "Thank you," Harry said. As they left, Harry got the impression that Padfoot was walking as fast as was possible without running; Harry was almost jogging to keep up. Outside, Diagon Alley was now almost empty and rather dark and this seemed to make Padfoot jumpy; he kept staring at shadows, constantly checking to make sure Harry was nearby and his knuckles were white around his wand.

"How did he know who I was?" Harry asked as they headed back toward the pub they'd come in through.

Padfoot glanced around and then leaned closer. "Your scar," Padfoot said, very quietly.

"My scar?" Harry whispered, trying to decide which of his thousand questions to ask first.

Padfoot nodded. "I know how frustrating this must be," he said with a grimace. "If we'd had more time, I would have explained everything to you before we came, but it won't take Dumbledore long to realise I've got you and then he'll come looking..."

"Who's Dumbledore?"

"Headmaster of Hogwarts," Padfoot said, starting to walk again. "A good friend of mine, and of your mum and dad. He's also the last person we want to see right now."

"Why?"

"He doesn't know I'm innocent. You'd be back with your Aunt and Uncle and I'd be back in my cell before either of us knew what was going on."

"And he knows you've got me?"

"If he doesn't already, he will soon," Padfoot said grimly.


	4. Padfoot's Tale

Padfoot and Harry stood before a door covered in peeling black paint. At least Harry assumed it was a door; there was a silver snake knocker and a doorbell alongside but no doorhandle. Padfoot tapped it with his wand and it swung open. "This is home," Padfoot said grimly.

_Home_, Harry thought, smiling as he stepped inside - the floorboards under the carpet squeaked - and cast a glance around. It was very dark; he couldn't see anything outside Padfoot's circle of wandlight. The place stank like old newspapers, mould and dust and every step that either Harry or Padfoot took made the floor creak horribly. _I still like it here better than I did at the Dursleys,_ he thought, squinting at a lumpy-looking umbrella stand.

Portraits covered peeling wallpaper and their eyes seemed to follow Harry and Padfoot. It sounded as though they were whispering, but Harry was fairly sure it was actually his trainers in the dust. They passed a set of double doors on the left, which had tarnished, silver serpent handles, and a door on the right with a matching one.

"Kreacher must have died," Padfoot whispered cheerfully, as he looked at the footsteps they were leaving.

"Kreacher?" Harry asked.

"My mum's old house elf." They both jumped as the stairs creaked. "This place is a mess," he breathed, looking around.

"When were you last here?" Harry whispered, thinking it was hardly surprising that Aunt Petunia cleaned so regularly if houses could end up like this.

Padfoot thought for a moment. "I was sixteen, I reckon." He ran a hand over his face. "I never thought I'd be back."

"Why not?"

"I hated it here," he said with a little laugh. "Are you opposed to sleeping downstairs tonight? I don't know what state the bedrooms are in and-"

"Down here's fine," Harry whispered.

"The kitchen's probably the best place," Padfoot murmured, leading Harry to the end of the hall. "Watch your step."

They descended a narrow, creaky staircase which led into a cavernous kitchen. There was an enormous table in the middle of the room, and chairs. As they entered, something small and grey scurried across the floor and hid under a chair. Padfoot flicked his wand at it and there was a high pitched squeal and a puff of dust.

"What was that?" Harry asked.

"Dust bunny," Padfoot said. "The house is probably infested."

"Are they dangerous?"

"Not unless you're carpet." Padfoot jabbed his wand in the direction of movement on the far side of the kitchen and there was another faint squeal. Padfoot had another quick look around and strode over to a small cabinet that rested against the wall by the stairs. "Can you hold my wand, please?" Harry held it like a torch so that Padfoot could see; he shifted a few things in the cabinet and then pulled out an old newspaper and a long piece of wood. "Over here." Harry followed his godfather to a big fireplace.

"Do you have matches?" Harry asked, watching him scrunch the newspaper up.

"I have a wand," Padfoot said, gesturing for it. Harry passed it over immediately, eager to see more magic. A moment later, a warm fire was crackling in the grate. Padfoot used his wand to clear the floor by the fireplace and then, to Harry's amazement, conjured a pair of bright red sleeping bags. "Do you want anything?" Padfoot asked as Harry kicked off his shoes and slid into his sleeping bag. "Food or a drink?"

"No, thanks." They'd had sandwiches and hot chocolate on the Knight Bus on the way back. "Padfoot?" Harry asked tentatively.

"Yeah, kiddo?"

"I was... Is... is it later yet?"

Padfoot stared at the dancing flames. "I suppose so," he said grimly, picking a thread out of his sleeping bag. Harry sat straighter, eyes fixed on his godfather. "Everything starts at Hogwarts, really, where students go to learn magic. I got my letter at eleven, like all magical kids and so did your mum and dad, Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew." His hands tightened into fists at the mention of the last name. "I met your mum and dad and Remus on the train and Peter after Sorting – we were all Sorted into the same House. We – the boys – became friends and called ourselves the Marauders.

"While we were going through school, a wizard named Voldemort started gaining power. He was evil and had decided to cleanse the world of anyone he didn't think was magical enough. At first it was just whispers. Propaganda about muggleborns and a stories that a group called the Death Eaters that was recruiting. One of my old teachers was one. Git." He sighed. "Things started to get particularly bad toward the end of my sixth year; people were going missing, Voldemort was recruiting students and killing muggles for the fun of it... It was a mess."

"Muggles?" Harry asked with a shiver, pulling the hood of his sleeping bag up a little higher.

"Non-magical folk, like your Aunt and Uncle. Anyway, Dumbledore, the man we were talking about in Diagon Alley, formed an organisation, The Order of the Phoenix, to fight back. I joined in my seventh year and so did your mum and dad, Remus and Peter.

"Your mum and dad got married, Lily trained to be a Healer, James and I went through the Auror Training Program – Aurors are Dark Wizard Catchers, like the Muggle equivalent of policemen, I suppose - and in our spare time, we fought against Voldemort. About a month before you were born, Dumbledore was in a job interview when a Seer made a prophecy... about you."

"Me?" Harry asked. "What did it say?"

"Ask me again in a year or two," Padfoot said evasively. "One of Voldemort's spies heard the prophecy, or part of it, and Voldemort set out to find you."

"He wanted me?"

"Your mum and dad went into hiding in August, trying to keep you safe. We – me, Moony and Peter – visited almost daily or James just about went mad, being cooped up all the time. You were safe enough – you lived at Hogwarts for most of the time but your mum got sick of it. Said she wanted to find somewhere they could live safely, without people coming and going all the time. Dumbledore, Moony and I found a house in Godric's Hollow, a little cottage and they moved in just before you turned one. None of us were allowed to visit for a while because we didn't want to draw attention to the place, but eventually things went back to normal and we visited all the time.

"There was a constant guard of Order members living in the house - me and Moony, mostly, but others too - to keep it safe. Dumbledore worried one of them might say something, though, or they'd be tortured into saying something; we knew there was a spy in our ranks, although no one wanted to suspect anyone else, and it was only a matter of time before word got out about where Lily and James were. Late in October, Dumbledore suggested they put the place under the Fidelius Charm."

"The what?"

"It's a spell that hides a secret inside a living soul. I was going to be the Secret Keeper, the one who would know where they were. I was planning to go into hiding too, but what got me was that I was such an obvious choice. I knew the second Voldemort heard about the charm, he'd come after me and I also knew, that if he tortured me, I might tell him where they were." He laughed once, without humour. "I decided to be clever," he spat. "I convinced Lily and James to change Secret Keepers at the last minute, to Peter. He was weak, the last person Voldemort would ever think to come after. He agreed to it and we cast the spell. The plan was that Voldemort would still come after me, but if he caught me, I wouldn't be able to tell him where you were.

"The night after we cast the spell, Peter ran off to Voldemort and told him where to find Lily and James. I was staying at Remus' that night - he was... sick - and I had a feeling. I went to check up on Peter and found his house empty, with no signs of a struggle. I arrived at your place a moment later and found it ruined. James," Padfoot choked, "was- dead- in the hallway- Lily- you were sitting in your crib- staring at your mum and-" Padfoot drew in a shuddering breath and then his face closed over and he took several slow deep breaths, his eyes not quite there. "Hagrid took you from me," Padfoot said finally, sounding a little too calm. "He had orders from Dumbledore to take you to your Aunt. The second he left, I went after Peter. I hunted for two days until I finally tracked him down."

"What happened?" Harry asked; Padfoot had started to tremble.

"He shouted that I was the one to betray your mum and dad, that I was the one who handed them to Voldemort and when I lifted my wand to curse him into the ground, he blew the street up. He killed thirteen muggles – I only survived because I got a Shield Charm up in time – and amidst all the chaos, he transformed into a rat and disappeared into the sewers. Hit Wizards arrived within minutes and found me on my knees, laughing at the hole in the ground."

"And they took you to prison?" Harry asked.

Padfoot shuddered. "Yes."

"What happened to Voldemort? You never said..."

"He vanished. I don't know what you did but you stopped him. People say he died, but I don't think that's right-"

"So he'll come back?"

"One day, I think," Padfoot said, staring into the dying fire.

Harry digested this in silence. "And Peter? Will he come back too?"

"Not if he's smart," Padfoot growled, his eyes glinting dangerously.

"Why did he become a rat?" Harry asked.

"He's what wizards call an Animagus. It means he can turn into an animal at will."

"Yes, but why did he choose to be a rat?"

"He didn't. It's all based on personality. How we didn't see it, I'll never understand," Padfoot muttered and Harry got the impression he wasn't talking to him.

"Are you an Animagus too?" Harry asked through a yawn.

"I am," Padfoot said with a small smile.

Harry perked up. "Really? What animal?"

"I'll show you." Harry fixed his godfather with an expectant look. As Padfoot smiled, his teeth grew, his ears stretched taller, black fur grew over his face, his fingers retracted into his hands and then-

"Brilliant," he said, staring at his godfather. Padfoot barked and bounded forward, tail wagging, to lick Harry's face. Harry laughed and patted his head. Padfoot changed back. "You're you again!" Harry exclaimed.

"Who else would I be?" Padfoot asked.

"I mean your hair," Harry said. "And your eyes. You look like you did at the playground, not like you did at Diagon Alley."

"Side effect of transformation," Padfoot said, shrugging. "It destroys all the charms I cast earlier because I have to go back to looking like me." That didn't make much sense to Harry at all but he was too tired to think about it in any detail. He yawned, fighting to keep his eyes open. Padfoot climbed back into his own sleeping bag. "Do you like to explore?" Padfoot asked as they both lay there, watching the fire.

Harry shrugged, his eyes slipping shut. He'd always been good at finding hiding places at school and at Number Four, mainly so he'd have somewhere to go when Dudley went 'Harry Hunting'. "Why?" he asked sleepily.

"We'll explore the house tomorrow," Padfoot said. "I haven't been here for ten years so I don't know how much has changed and then we'll need to start cleaning to make this place liveable; we can't sleep in the kitchen every night." Padfoot started to say something else but sleep claimed Harry before he could finish.

* * *

Something poked Harry. He frowned without opening his eyes. _Aunt Petunia never comes into my cupboard_, he thought, rolling over. Something poked him again. "All right, I'm up," he mumbled forcing his eyelids open. "Aargh!" Standing over him was a pale blob with big eyes and bigger ears. Harry crawled backwards, hands searching for his glasses.

"What is this in Mistress' house?" the thing asked in a voice like a bullfrog's croak.

_It can talk!_ Harry thought, his fingers closing around his glasses. He jammed them onto his face and Padfoot's dusty kitchen came into focus, as did the creature in front of him. It was perhaps one of the ugliest things he'd ever seen. It was roughly human shaped – though only half the size - but with long arms and legs, a larger than natural head and a bulbous, snout-like nose. Folds of skin hung off its bony frame and it was naked, except for a grey loincloth. Harry glanced at Padfoot's empty sleeping bag, feeling his fear spike. He was used to being alone, but not in unfamiliar places. "W-who are you?"

"The brat wants to know Kreacher's name!" the thing said, looking revolted. "Kreacher doesn't talk to brats, oh no. Kreacher's poor Mistress would never forgive Kreacher." The thing turned its big, bloodshot eyes on Harry who scrambled to his feet and backed away.

Harry watched it carefully, positioning himself on the opposite side of the dusty table. He was fairly sure he could outrun it if he had to, but he'd never seen anything like it before which meant it was probably magical. "Padfoot!" he called, hoping his godfather was nearby.

"Is there another brat here? Kreacher didn't hear it, but little beasts can be silent..." The thing mumbled something Harry couldn't understand and then let loose a blood-curdling shriek: "Thieves!" it shouted. "Thieves in the House of Black!"

Harry edged toward the stairs. He heard a loud CRACK! and out of the corner of his eye saw the thing disappear. Harry turned and sprinted up the stairs. A small part of Harry's mind wondered if the creature in the kitchen had done anything to his godfather but he discarded that with a shiver. Padfoot was a wizard. He'd be safe. He skidded into the hallway, which was empty too and the layer of dust on the staircase leading to the first floor was undisturbed. "Padfoot?" Harry called.

"Who's there?" screeched a woman's voice. Harry jumped, barely managing to stifle a yell as the curtains on the wall in front of him flew open of their own accord. "Who dares disturb the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black? Name yourself!"

"H-Harry," Harry said, his eyes darting around to try to locate the source of the noise.

"What is your family name, _Harry?_" she asked haughtily.

"My family-?"

"You father's name."

"James."

"James _what?_"

"Potter. James Potter."

"Oh. Him."

"Er... yes?"

"Harry Potter, did you say?" the voice asked, sounding curious now. "The boy who defeated the Dark Lord?"

"Er... I guess so," Harry told the empty corridor.

"Come here, Harry Potter," she said imperiously. Harry walked toward the sound of the voice. "There's not much of you," she sniffed. "You're just a boy. What are you doing in my house?" Harry finally found the speaker. It was a portrait of an old woman with grey hair and cold black eyes. He blinked a few times, just to convince himself that the portrait was in fact speaking and to him. "How did you get in?" the woman asked, shifting in her chair. "I'll have to get Kreacher to update the security."

"Through the door," Harry said, not understanding the question.

"Liar!" she shrieked. Harry jumped and tripped. "Only a Black can open the door to the home of my fathers! How did you come here?!"

"Well, Padfoot's last name is Black-" Harry said from the floor.

The woman released a scream of pure rage. "Him! Oh, yes, it would be him! Blood-traitor! Abomination! Shame of my flesh!" Harry didn't dare move. "Kreacher!" she shouted. "Kreacher!" There was a loud CRACK! and then the thing from the kitchen appeared beside Harry, who could only stare.

"Kreacher is here, Mistress," the thing said, stroking the screaming portrait. "Mistress needn't worry-"

The front door swung open and then there was a quiet creaking noise. Padfoot was standing there, blond again, holding a paper bag. "What in Merlin's name is going on in here?" he asked.

"You!" the woman in the portrait screamed, her eyes popping. "You! How dare you show your traitorous face here! Shame of my blood! Ungrateful! Blood-traitor! Freak!"

Padfoot, who'd looked startled at the commotion in the hallway, dropped the bag he was holding and ran forward to wrench the curtain over the portrait. The screaming subsided as soon as the portrait was covered. "Master has returned," Kreacher croaked, grovelling at Padfoot's feet. "Master broke his mother's heart," he muttered. "Master doesn't belong here, oh no, and Kreacher doesn't want to serve nasty Master."

"That's enough, Kreacher," Padfoot snapped. "Go to your cupboard and stay there until I deal with you." The thing glared at Padfoot but vanished with another CRACK! Harry was staring at the place where the thing had vanished.

"What was that thing?" he asked.

"Kreacher," Padfoot said, looking irritated. "The portrait's of my mother- Oh, portraits!" Padfoot said, his eyes widening. "Kreacher!" Kreacher returned with another loud CRACK! and a dirty look.

"Master's grown even more fickle than Kreacher remembers. Do this, Master says, and then takes it back just after, oh, yes, such a temperamental little-"

"Shut up." Kreacher gave them both a withering look. "In one of the bedrooms upstairs, there's a portrait of Phineas Nigellus - he was Hogwarts Headmaster. I want you to burn it. Now. And any others paintings that could tell anyone we're here. Before they have a chance to tell anyone. I forbid you from telling them why. And I forbid you from saying anything about me or Harry while you do it. Understand?" The elf gave him a look of loathing and vanished again. Harry stared at his godfather. "Phineas Nigellus has a portrait in the Headmaster's office. My parents used to have him keep track of me. The last thing we need, though, is him telling Dumbledore where we are before we get proper security on this place."

"You mean all portraits can talk?"

"In the Wizarding World," Padfoot said. Harry blinked, trying to make sense of all this. "It isn't a problem as long as they can't leave the house. How about we head down to the kitchen?" Padfoot suggested. "I don't want to set Mum off again."

Harry nodded fervently, watching the portrait out of the corner of his eye. Padfoot grabbed the bag and the two headed down to the kitchen. "So what's Kreacher?" Harry asked as Padfoot restarted last night's fire.

"He's a house elf," Padfoot said, getting up. Behind him, the fire crackled cheerfully. "Nasty little sod – not all of them, just this one. I thought he'd died when I saw the state of this place. "I ducked out to get food – I thought you'd be hungry. Kreacher must have heard me leaving and come to investigate."

"What do house elves do?"

"Old wizarding families have them to cook and clean, some even look after kids." Padfoot glanced around the filthy kitchen with distaste. "I don't think Kreacher's done either for years. Do you like apples?" he asked, digging around in the bag. Harry nodded. "Are you sure? I bought oranges and pears too, just in case-"

"Apples are fine," Harry said, a little shocked; usually he just ate what he was given. He accepted it with a shy smile. "Thanks." He traced patterns on its shiny green skin with a dirty fingernail before looking up again. "Why was the portrait talking? Is it alive?"

"I'd say some of my mother's evil seeped into the walls while she was living here," Padfoot said, curling his lip. Harry stared around, half expecting Padfoot's mother's ghost to appear. "That aura stayed here when she died and someone's obviously embedded that into a painting to keep Kreacher happy."

"You really hate it here, do you?" Harry said quietly.

Padfoot sighed. "My mother was a hag I was never good enough for, and I loved my brother but we were very different people. Kreacher used to follow me around and tell me how much my mother hated me. My... father wasn't home much but when he was he was usually drunk..." Harry winced. He had seen Uncle Vernon drunk once and it wasn't something he'd forget any time soon. "It's hard not to see things as they were," Padfoot said, shrugging. "That fireplace, for example, was where I lost my first tooth because I slipped getting out of the Floo. My mother smacked me over the head for bleeding on the rug that used to be there and I spent the rest of the day in my room.

"The table," he continued with a wave of his hand, "was where my father beat me in front of all of my relatives for getting into Gryffindor instead of Slytherin..." Padfoot turned to stare at the cabinet that held the firewood and smiled slightly. "That cabinet," he said, grinning now, "is where I had to hide Remus and James because they arrived to surprise me for my birthday, and all my relatives showed up."

"My dad came here?"

"Several times?" Padfoot said, nodding.

Harry smiled. "How long did they have to hide?"

"Four and a half hours I think it was," Padfoot said, smirking. "It's a good thing they were both skinny or they'd never have fit. Right, no more talking until you finish your apple and I finish mine." Harry stared down at the untouched fruit in his hand, bemused. He'd forgotten it was there.

"What are we doing after we eat?" Harry asked.

"You ask a lot of questions," Padfoot said.

"Sorry," Harry said quickly.

"I never said it was a bad thing." Padfoot looked amused, Harry was relieved to see. "We're going exploring," he added and then frowned suddenly. "And I thought I said no talking." Harry grinned.

* * *

"Ah, Minerva! To what do I owe the pleasure?" Albus Dumbledore asked, tucking a half-finished declination for the position of Minister into his desk drawer; Millicent was planning to retire at the end of the year and wanted him to take her place. He looked up, the smile slipping off his face. "Is something wrong?" His usually stern Transfiguration Professor was looking rather flustered; her black hair was falling out of its immaculate bun and her robes were creased from extended wear.

"Harry Potter wasn't at Arabella Figg's today," she said briskly.

"I see," he said, his lips twitching. "Would you care for a lemon drop?"

She batted the bowl of sweets away. "He wasn't in the car when they left and he didn't come back with them either," she said, folding her arms.

"Are you upset that he was left behind," Dumbledore asked gently, "or that you didn't get to see him at Arabella's?"

She conjured a chair and sat down. "I checked the home," she admitted, a little defiantly. "He wasn't there. Albus, I've just got a feeling that something isn't right; if he wasn't there and he wasn't with his relatives..." Her eyes found the newspaper article on his desk, the one with Sirius Black's picture on it.

"Sirius could not have taken the boy," he said, seeing at last what had upset her. "The wards-"

"Are failing," she said. "I could barely feel them, even as a cat."

Albus' eyebrows rose. Animals had better senses than humans did and were exponentially better at detecting magical activity. "You're sure?" he asked, knowing even as he said it that Minerva would never come to him unless she was certain.

"Of course I am."

Albus sat quietly, letting the last few minutes sink in. He'd grown complacent after the War, and not needed to make overly authoritive decisions for a long time. Finally, his mind fought its way out of its detached stupor. He turned to Minerva. "I need you to get to Augusta Longbottom's house as soon as possible. Keep her and Neville safe until I arrive."

"And the others?"

"Safe for the moment, I think."

Minerva nodded stiffly. "What should I tell Augusta? She'll hardly be pleased when I show up on her doorstep."

"That I am searching for answers and will inform her when I find them. She may raise any problems with me when I arrive."

Minerva nodded stiffly and swept out of the office. Albus got to his feet and strode over to the fireplace. Reasons the wards could have failed bounced around in his head, and worry waltzed around his insides. _Surely Sirius couldn't have taken the boy... best to be certain, however..._ "The Hog's Head," he said firmly, stepping into the green flames.

"Albus?"

"Good evening, Aberforth," Albus said, running past his brother. "I know this is terribly rude of me, but manners must come second to time tonight."

"Wha-"

As soon as he was outside, Albus fixed an image of Petunia Dursley's house in his mind and Disapparated. He stumbled a little upon his arrival in the Dursley's driveway, but didn't allow that to stop him; he strode up the garden path and pressed the doorbell, all the while casting his mind out. The door swung open. "Whatever you're selling, we're not interested," said a large man with a bushy moustache and very little neck.

"Good evening, Vernon," Albus said politely.

The man's small eyes narrowed as he took in Albus' purple robes. "What do you want?"

"May I come in?"

"No."

"Vernon! Who's at the door?" Albus saw Petunia Dursley appear in the hallway behind her husband and pale at the sight of him. "You," she said.

"Me," Albus said smiling pleasantly. "Is Harry home?"

"What do you want with the boy?" she asked, pursing her lips.

"To speak with him," Albus said, noting that she'd gone a shade paler.

"You can't," she said.

"He isn't here," Vernon said gleefully.

"I beg your pardon?" Albus said calmly, adjusting his hat.

"He isn't here."

"Where else would he be?" Albus asked, fearing the answer.

"His godfather took him." A cold, sick feeling settled itself in Albus' stomach, making him rather glad he hadn't eaten.

"When?" he asked, his voice shaking.

"Last night," Petunia said. "I sent you a letter this morning," she added unwillingly. "To tell you he's gone and that we don't want anything more to do with him or you or any of your kind."

"I'll keep an eye on the post," Albus said. "And I'll make the effort not to bother you in the future, but for now, I'm already here and have a few questions to ask yet." Both Dursleys made disapproving noises. "Can you describe the man?"

"Tall, black hair," Vernon said.

"Filthy," was his wife's contribution.

Albus drew his wand, making both muggles hiss. "Is this him?" He waved his wand, causing a smoky image of Sirius Black to form in the space between them.

"That's him," Petunia said. "Thinner though."

"And you just let him take the boy?"

"He wanted him," Vernon said shrugging. "We didn't."

"He's his godfather," Aunt Petunia said. "He's legally entitled to the boy and the boy seemed happy to go with him." She paused, eyeing him critically and then glanced around to see that they weren't being watched. "Are you done here? I don't want the neighbours asking questions tomorrow."

Albus closed his eyes and took a deep breath. There was little point in asking if they'd been given Harry's new contact details. "Yes," he said. The door slammed shut in his face. He turned and walked away from the doorstep. Somehow, his wards had failed, or Sirius had found a way around them. And now he had Harry.

Albus set off down the street searching for any magical traces he could find. There were several overlapping sets of Appearance Alteration Charms, specifically, those taught in the Auror Training Program. _Sirius, what have you done...?_ A little further up Privet Drive he found marks left by a Hover Charm and a Light Spell, and beside them, the equivalent of magical tyre tracks. Without hesitation, Albus flung out his wand.

BANG. "Welcome to the Knight Bus. My name is Je- Professor Dumbledore?!"

"Good evening, Jeremy," Albus said, giving his past student a strained smile. "I am in need of assistance and think you might be able to help."

"Yeah, er... sure," he said looking a little startled. "We can take you anywhere-"

"London, please. To the Ministry," Albus said, pressing a galleon into his hand.

"Is the Floo Network down?" Albus chuckled. "I'm serious!" Jeremy said.

"No, I'm merely in the mood for an alternate form of transportation." Jeremy gave him a skeptical look. "Did you pick up a man and a boy here last night?" Albus asked as he settled himself on the end of a four-poster bed.

Jeremy frowned. "Yeah," he said thoughtfully. "Yeah, we did. How'd you know that?"

"A story for another day. Could you describe them, please?"

"Blond, both of them," Jeremy said, squinting. "Blue eyes too, I think. The man was... tall-ish – not quite as tall as you, but close - with a round face and the kid was scrawny with glasses."

"Indeed. And where did you take them?"

"Leaky Cauldron the first time," Jeremy said, steadying himself against Albus' four-poster as the bus took off. "Second time we got them from the Leaky Cauldron and took them to Kings Cross Station."

"Did they enter the station?"

"I don't think so, no," Jeremy said slowly. "They crossed to the other side of the road as soon as they were off."

_But they could have doubled back... or they could have kept walking... You always were too clever for your own good, Sirius. _"Ha- Happy? The boy, was he happy?"

"Seemed like it. They were laughing when they got on and off, both times." Jeremy peered out the window. "We're here, sir."

"Thank you, Jeremy," Albus said, spying the peeling phone box. "Have a good evening."

"You too, Professor," Jeremy said, bemused, as Albus strode off the bus and into the night.

Ten minutes later, Minister Millicent Bagnold collapsed into her chair and fixed Albus with a stunned look. She was an older witch - though still young compared to Albus - with blond hair that was fading to white and very thin lips that were perpetually pursed. "The Ministry will do everything it can," she said in her brisk voice. "I'll send Aurors to Mrs Pettigrew's home immediately, and to Mrs Longbottom's later tonight." She wrote something down and then paused. "You're sure about the others?"

"Both are perfectly capable of protecting themselves, but I will present the offer when I visit." Millicent passed the note to a small owl that was perched by the window and it flew out of the office.

"Will you join the search yourself?"

"When I have the time," Albus said. He owed Harry that much, and Lily and James too; he knew it was Sirius' fault they'd died, but perhaps if he'd been a little more forceful in his offer to be their Secret-Keeper- He shook his head to clear it.

"I'll have the Department of Magical Records monitor the Deaths list," she said quietly. Albus closed his eyes. "And the Department of Management and Control of Magical Children will monitor Harry Potter's Trace. It might take some time to find, given they don't usually bother with the files of children under eleven but exceptions can and will be made... Is Black capable of installing wards that block the Trace?"

"Perhaps," Albus said tiredly, but hope was beginning to stir inside him. "He was a gifted student, though it would surprise me if he thought of it so quickly. He's already used magic around the boy."

"Then he's already slipped up. Let's hope he does so again and we can have Potter back to his family by morning. I'll be required to launch a proper investigation," Millicent said. Albus nodded. "And I can't do that without an explanation. What will the public story be?"

Albus sighed and ducked as an owl bearing a green envelope flew in. "The truth. That Harry Potter was kidnapped by Sirius Black. Jeremy Philips, the conductor of the Knight Bus saw them."

"They were on the Knight Bus? That's a bold move for Black."

"Hidden in plain sight," Albus said with a sigh. "He's always been clever."

"Reckless though."

"With any hope, that's what will catch him," Albus said. "He was a Gryffindor after all."

"Was he really? I'd have picked him for Slytherin."

"I'm afraid that side of him was buried so deep that even our Sorting Hat couldn't find it," Albus said sadly. He stood, tucking a loose strand of his beard into his belt. "I'm afraid you must excuse me, Millicent. There are others I need to talk to regarding the events of last night."

"Of course," she said, getting up to open the office door. "You'll be in contact, I take it?"

"Expect my owl in the morning. And if the Aurors find anything before then-"

"I'll let you know," she promised.


	5. The Boy Who Disappeared

For all that Aunt Petunia had seemed to hate Padfoot's wand the day before, Harry thought she might have made good use of one herself; the quarter-of-an-inch thick dust that covered everything vanished with a flick of Padfoot's wrist, and a murmured spell was all that was needed to scrub the faded wallpaper clean and replaster it, or have the sponges polish the grimy windows all by themselves. It was odd - _very_ odd - to go from being oblivious to magic's existence one day, to living with someone who used it for even the most mundane tasks the next.

There were three bathrooms in Grimmauld Place and the only thing that worked was a single shower on the second floor. If either of them wanted to use the toilet, they had to go to the public bathroom in the small park across the road. Padfoot insisted on magical disguises - like the ones they'd used the night before - that changed with each trip, and also insisted they change clothes each time, which was easier said than done.

Harry only had a pair of faded, too-big jeans, a pair of baggy shorts and a few of Dudley's oversized shirts, and the only clothes Padfoot owned was the dirty dress - which wizards called robes - he'd worn the day before, and whatever he could find in the house; he'd received an odd look from a woman at the park for wearing his brother's embroidered waistcoat and pinstriped trousers and an odder look from the man who served them at the supermarket.

Kreacher had disapproved of Padfoot's attire too, but for completely different reasons. "The blood-traitor's trying to pretend he's a Black again," he muttered. "Oh, yes, Kreacher knows. Kreacher sees it. Oh, but if poor Mistress and Master Regulus were to see... Master Regulus would die of shame to see his fine clothes on Master's ungrateful back. They say he went to Azkaban for murder, oh, Kreacher doesn't doubt it, he always had a nasty temper, and to think Master Regulus' best waistcoat is being worn by cruel, murdering Master-"

"Oh, shut up," Padfoot snapped, tugging at the offending article. It was rather tight - it seemed Padfoot had broader shoulders than his brother - and Padfoot didn't seem to like wearing it much at all if his grimace was anything to judge by. "_Manere Frigus,_" he muttered, tapping one of the cupboards inside the pantry. "Ah, finally."

"What'd you do?"

"Refrigeration Charm." Harry looked over with interest but it looked like a normal cupboard to him. Curious, he reached out and then pulled his hand away from the cold. "Could you pass the milk?" he asked Harry.

"Not even a please," Kreacher said in his croaky voice from the pantry doorway, watching the pair of them. "Not that the brat deserves it, but Mistress would still be so ashamed to see her blood talking like a wretched mudblood-"

"What's a mudblood?" Harry asked.

Padfoot dropped the milk. It landed on his foot and spilt everywhere, soaking his socks and the pin-striped trousers. Kreacher let out a shriek, snapped his fingers and the mess vanished.

"Don't say that word," Padfoot said in a rather scary voice. "Not ever. Do you understand?" Harry nodded, feeling very small. "Get _off_, Kreacher," Padfoot said irritably, kicking the elf away; Kreacher was lying at his feet, inspecting the damage done to the trousers. Padfoot sighed. "That word is... well... a rather nasty name for a witch or wizard born into a muggle family." Padfoot's face darkened. "Like your mum."

"What do you call them, then?"

"Muggleborns. Did you hear that, Kreacher? I forbid you from using the m-word - that particular m-word - ever again." Kreacher looked like he'd been forced to drink something particularly unpleasant. He skulked out of the pantry, muttering under his breath. "I really am sorry about him," Padfoot said, staring at the elf's back with dislike.

"Is he always like that?"

"Pretty much. He-" There was a croaky scream from upstairs, a loud thump and then Mrs Black's horrid portrait began to shriek. Padfoot looked a little afraid but he stood and slipped out of the pantry, his wand clutched in his hand. "Stay here," he told Harry in a quiet voice and crept up the stairs. There was another shrill yell and thump.

Harry waited a moment before he sneaked over to the stairs and peered up. He couldn't see anything but the wall at the top, so he risked the ascension. He couldn't see the main hallway - the dining room walls blocked it from view - and so when nothing immediately attacked, he ventured out a little further and glanced around the corner.

A lumpy umbrella stand zoomed past and landed with a thump and a puff of dust. Something beneath it squealed. Kreacher let out a little triumphant noise and Padfoot, who Harry spotted at the bottom of the stairs, let out a laugh as Kreacher sent the umbrella stand after another dust bunny.

"Harry!" he called. "You can come up if you'd like!" Harry stepped out into the hallway a little guiltily. "That was fast," Padfoot commented, raising an eyebrow. Harry didn't say anything but felt his face flaming up. He wondered what Padfoot would say; Uncle Vernon would have sent him to his cupboard by now. Padfoot gave him a contemplative look - leaned out of the way as the umbrella stand flew by - and then said, "Next time, you should wait longer before showing yourself. It's not as suspicious." Harry stared. "And stomping about, or pretending to be out of breath is something you might want to consider," he added thoughtfully. "Just for effect."

"You're not... You don't-"

"I don't what?" Padfoot asked, patting the stair beside him.

Harry sat a little nervously. "You're not angry?"

"Erm... no..." Padfoot said. His expression flickered and he looked troubled. "I'm really not cut out for this whole parenting thing, am I?" Before Harry had a chance to answer that, he shrugged and let out a bark-like laugh. "Tell you what: you eat your vegetables tonight with dinner and we'll call it even. Deal?"

"Er... okay," Harry said.

Padfoot frowned. "I'm definitely doing it wrong. You should have found that unreasonable."

"Sorry?" Harry said.

"Don't apologise, it's not your fault." Harry stared at him. Padfoot was quiet - the only noises were those made by Kreacher and the dust bunnies popping out of existence - and then said, "Fuck it." Harry's eyebrows climbed but he didn't appear to notice. "-I'll do this guardian thing my way. I'll be as reasonable as I damn well want and you can just deal with that."

"Erm..."

"And I'd appreciate if you didn't use that word I used before," Padfoot added, looking sheepish. "Your mother would kill me."

"Would would my dad think?" Harry asked curiously.

"He'd find it funny," Padfoot said, smiling slightly. "He and Remus probably would have had a bet going about which word I'd let slip first, or how old you'd be before I corrupted you."

The reaction fit with the laughing face Harry had seen in Padfoot's mirror the night before. Slowly, he was building an idea of what his parents had been like, and the more he found out - which was still reasonably little - the more he wished he'd had the chance to know them.

Padfoot sniggered from next to him. Harry followed his gaze to Kreacher, who was trying to squash another dust bunny. "Why doesn't he just use magic?" Harry asked, thinking about Padfoot dealing with them last night.

"House elves and dust bunnies are mortal enemies," Padfoot said, shrugging. "Some house elves just want them gone, others get rather-" Kreacher shrieked. "-well, rather like Kreacher, and figure a painful death's better, I suppose."

"Mortal enemies?"

"A house elf lives to please," Padfoot said, and they both watched as Kreacher stomped on one of the little grey creatures. "A dust bunny is living proof that an elf's failed to keep the house clean. They take it as a personal insult."

"But Kreacher's been here for years," Harry said. "Shouldn't they all be gone by now?"

Padfoot thought for a moment. "No. After my mother died, I think Kreacher recognised on some level - a very deep, subconscious level, mind - that he wasn't serving anyone anymore. House elves only take pride in their work when someone's around to appreciate it - or punish them for not doing it. Now that we're here, he'll take some pride in the house."

"What _are_ dust bunnies?" Harry asked, his eyes following one as it hopped past with Kreacher in close pursuit. "Are they alive?" They were quite small - the size of mice rather than rabbits - and grey, with long ears and round bodies.

"Not really. They're magic," Padfoot said. "A muggle house gets dirty if it's not looked after, right?" Harry nodded. "Same with wizarding houses. The wards weaken a bit, if there are any, and magical residue leaks out and forms those." He pointed at one of the bunnies which was contentedly nibbling on a patch of frayed carpet. "When they - die isn't quite the right word but it's the only one I can think of - the magic goes back into reinforcing the house and its occupants."

"So the - did you call them wards?" Padfoot nodded. "Are weak?"

"I'll need to do something about them soon," Padfoot said thoughtfully. "But getting rid of dust bunnies is probably a good start."

Harry watched Kreacher stamp another one into the carpet. "How?"

Padfoot grinned wickedly and then it wasn't a man sitting there, but a large, shaggy dog. Harry jumped. That was going to take time to get used to. Padfoot leapt up and barked at Harry, his tail wagging and then went bounding after a dust bunny.

Between them, Kreacher and Padfoot seemed to have things under control so Harry watched for a bit - and laughed when Padfoot skidded in a patch of dust and made a yelping noise that sounded impressively like a swear word - and was then coerced into playing a game of tag with his dog-godfather, while Kreacher continued to wage war on the dust bunnies.

If the day was any indication of what was to come, Harry thought he was going to enjoy living with Padfoot very much indeed.

* * *

Remus Lupin had thought his life was about as bad as it was possible to get. He'd spent the past month at a werewolf camp, trying to talk sense into Greyback - who was getting restless again, and had bitten a girl a month back - and had returned only a week ago, with a number of new scars for his efforts, to learn that Sirius Black, his old friend-turned-enemy, had escaped from Azkaban; very little wizarding news got through to the camps, unfortunately. As if this all wasn't bad enough, things had become a thousand times worse by the arrival of a weary - and for the first time since Remus had known him - scared - Professor Dumbledore.

"I don't want the Aurors here," Remus said. "I can handle Sirius if it comes to it."

"I'd thought as much," Dumbledore said quietly and then fell silent.

"It doesn't make sense!" Remus said, his voice muffled because his face was buried in his scarred hands. "Sirius-" Remus had decided long ago that he would still call Sirius 'Sirius', for the same reasons he had called Voldemort 'Voldemort'. "-didn't have to tell the muggles he was taking Harry. It would have made more sense to just kidnap him."

"I fear Sirius may have been unhinged by his time in Azkaban," Professor Dumbledore said, his eyes lacking their usual twinkle. "What makes sense to him may seem like insanity to us."

"Sirius was always a little mad," Remus admitted, a shadow of a smile crossing his face before he remembered what had happened and he forced it off. "But I don't understand why he took him! Harry killed Voldemort, so_maybe_ Sirius wants revenge but if he was going to kill him then he'd have done it by now, surely? He wouldn't have even bothered to 'adopt' him, he'd have just killed him and run."

"You are forgetting the prophecy."

Remus had to think for a moment. James had sat him and Sirius down years ago and explained in an unusually serious voice that Voldemort was after Harry. Peter hadn't visited that day - he'd been sick - and so he didn't know about it. Remus wished bitterly that Sirius had been the one who was sick and Peter had heard it instead. Lily and James might still-

_No. I won't think about that._ Remus forced his thoughts back to the prophecy. It took him a moment to remember it, and then a moment longer to identify the part Dumbledore was talking he did, his heart gave a little leap.

"'Either must die at the hand of the other'," he breathed.

Dumbledore looked older than Remus had ever seen. "It is possible, of course, that Sirius killing Harry on Voldemort's orders would fulfil this," he said heavily. "But Voldemort, as we know, takes prophecy very seriously. Sirius doubtless told him the entire thing when he swapped sides, and, if I am correct, Voldemort will want to kill Harry himself. Sirius will merely keep him captive until that time comes."

"So Sirius won't hurt him," Remus said.

Dumbledore closed his eyes. "We have no guarantee of that. The only thing we can assume - and even then, not safely - is that Harry is alive."

"We have to find him," Remus said, throwing himself to his feet to pace.

"Do you know anything that might help us find them?"

"Are you asking if he's contacted me?" Remus said, stopping mid-step. "Are you saying I'm helping him?"

"Remus, sit down," Dumbledore said with a sigh. Remus sat. "I said nothing of the kind. I'm asking for your help, because you know him better than anyone else."

"I thought I knew him," Remus muttered. He sighed loudly, throwing his head back. "You said he went to London?" he asked. "Is Enid safe?"

"Mrs Pettigrew is under guard," Dumbledore assured him. "She will be moved to a safe house within the week."

"And Alice and Frank's boy. Neville?" Remus asked, worried Sirius might be out to fulfil the prophecy.

"Minerva is there now." Remus nodded, relieved. "I have had it confirmed that Sirius visited the Leaky Cauldron."

"I don't think he'd have gone in to see Tom," Remus said dryly. "He would have gone to Diagon Alley."

"Not Knockturn?"

Remus scrunched up his mouth and shook his head. "I can't see any reason for him to go there, especially if Harry was with him. Children stand out in Knockturn Alley." Dumbledore nodded. "So he probably went for money," Remus said, staring at the ceiling of his living room. "I know no one was looking for Harry yet, but even so... to take him out in public was risky, and not something he would have done if he didn't have to."

"Why money? Sirius didn't seem to care for it all that much during the Order days."

"He doesn't, I don't think, but he's not foolish enough to think he can get by without it. And money is the only thing at Diagon Alley that can't be ordered by owl."

"I'll ask the Ministry to send people there first thing tomorrow. Anything else?"

"If I'm right about him going to Gringotts for money then he's probably planning to stay in one place for a while... that makes me think he still has Harry with him... has anyone checked his old flat?"

"I made enquiries at the Ministry," Dumbledore said. "It was reclaimed a year after he was sent to Azkaban. His belongings were taken as evidence and are being held in a Ministry-owned storage facility. The flat is currently inhabited, and under guard by Aurors in case Sirius decides to return."

"But he hasn't yet?"

"Not as far as the Ministry or I are aware. Can you think of anywhere else Sirius would be compelled to stay?"

"Hogwarts, maybe? James, Peter, Sirius and I knew it better than anyone... there's no reason for him to go there, though. If Harry'd been at school he might have but he's not..." Remus thought hard for a moment. Potter Manor had been destroyed in the War and Lily and James' cottage in Godric's Hollow was in no state to be inhabited. "The only other one I can think of is Grimmauld Place and Sirius _hated_-"

"It's empty," Dumbledore said. "Alastor searched it himself on Saturday and then again on Monday-" _Harry was taken on Tuesday though,_ Remus thought. Dumbledore seemed to read his mind. "Marlene was told to keep an eye out and we've heard nothing."

Remus nodded and then sighed. "I really can't think where else he might have gone, Professor."

"Thank you for your help, then, Remus. I need to get back to Hogwarts, but I'll be in contact; your insight into how Sirius thinks could well find Harry."

"That's it?" Remus asked flatly.

"For now. I daresay the Aurors will have questions for you but they'll be another day away, yet, I think-"

"This is the only way I get to help? Answering questions?"

"The only way? Remus, you've been invaluable."

"I want to be out there helping," Remus said. "I want to be looking for him. He's James and Lily's _son!_ He's my godson!"

"Pardon?"

"The night Harry was born, James and Sirius broke into the St Mungo's administration room and put me down as Harry's godmother. It's not quite legal but James wouldn't have done it if he didn't mean it." Remus said all of this very quickly, too agitated to care that his usual calm demeanour was slipping and that he was very close to shouting.

"Ah, yes, I do remember you telling me that-"

"So do I. It was the night you took Harry to his aunt's house," Remus said bitterly.

"Remus, you know why I couldn't give you custody of the boy..." Dumbledore said.

"I can understand you wanting to keep him safe, and wanting him to grow up out of the public eye," Remus said frustrated; they'd had this argument a number of times in the past. "I _don't_ understand why you forbade me to have any contact with him. And I certainly don't know why I couldn't get to know him after Sirius broke out; Harry would have been safer with me! You could have put up wards – maybe not as strong as they were with Petunia, but strong enough – and I would have been able to protect him."

"Remus, you _know_ why I couldn't do that-"

"I'm dangerous for one night a month. He could have gone to Arabella's, or back to his aunt's for the full moon and stayed with me for the rest of the time! I-"

"The Ministry would not have approved," Dumbledore interrupted.

"Since when have you cared what the Ministry do and don't like?" Remus said.

"The last thing we needed was for the Ministry to worry about your ability to care for him and remove him from your custody and mine."

"The last thing we needed was for Sirius to bloody kidnap him!" Remus shouted. With a shaky breath he leaned back against the wall. "I'm sorry, Professor," he said, burying his face in his hands.

"There is no need to apologise," Dumbledore said, resting a hand on Remus' trembling shoulder. With it, Remus was surprised to find, was a scent of guilt. _So Professor Dumbledore wishes things had been different now too..._ "You being upset is understandable, and you being angry is even more so. I really do need to get back to the school but I'll see what I can do about getting you involved with the search."

"Thank you," Remus said, his voice muffled. "There's Floo Powder on the mantel."

"Yes, I remember. Take care, Remus, and let me know if you think of anything else. Headmaster's Office, Hogwarts." There was a whooshing sound and then he was gone. Remus slid down the wall to the floor and began to cry.

* * *

Harry ran into the library, eyes looking for a hiding place. He immediately discounted the bookshelf covered walls – he'd never get to the top in time – the desk was fixed to the wall so hiding under that wouldn't work... Harry ran out onto the second floor landing, nearly bowling Kreacher over in the process.

"Sorry," he said hastily as the elf glared at him. Padfoot had threatened to free him after one particularly nasty comment and Kreacher was a little edgy around the pair of them now, even though Padfoot had no intention of following through with it; Padfoot had explained to Harry that Kreacher would remain in the house, if only so he didn't go running off and tell the Ministry of Magic where Harry and Padfoot were. Harry, resigned to Kreacher's company for the foreseeable future, was determined to be civil, despite not liking the elf awfully much.

"The Potter brat needs to watch where he's going," Kreacher said to the moth-eaten carpet. "Kreacher could have been hurt. Not that Master would have cared. Master's a heartless wretch-"

"Do you think you could take me downstairs with your Apprarating thing?" Harry asked breathlessly. Yesterday afternoon, Padfoot had played around with a tapestry in the drawing room and managed to bind Kreacher to Harry. While the elf now had to obey Harry's orders, Harry, who was well used to being ordered around, felt it was politer to ask. "Please?" he added.

"The brat has legs but he wants Kreacher to do his moving for him, oh, yes. Poor Mistress would weep to see Kreacher used as a form of transport-"

"I'm hiding from Padfoot," Harry said. "It's a game." And if Padfoot finds me, he wins, but if he can't, _I_ win." Harry had learned very quickly that Kreacher liked Padfoot about as much as Padfoot liked Kreacher, which wasn't much at all. He'd learnt that either would do anything to spite the other; Padfoot liked to talk louder than was necessary about how horrible his mother had been and Kreacher liked to try to find loopholes in the simplest orders. "He won't have realised I can get downstairs, because he's on the first floor."

"Master doesn't like to lose," Kreacher said gleefully. He fixed Harry with a curious look and then held out his hand. Harry took it. Kreacher's bony fingers tightened on his and then they were both being squeezed. Harry's ears popped and he felt like he was being pulled through a tube and then, before he was fully aware of it, he was standing in the kitchen. He grabbed the edge of the table for fear of toppling over.

"Thanks," he panted, trying to re-orient himself.

"At least the brat has manners," Kreacher muttered.

Harry ignored this and set about making tea. He figured that by the time Padfoot realised he wasn't upstairs, tea would be ready and they could have a break before they went back to cleaning. "Would you like some?" he asked Kreacher as he fumbled with the polished silver teacups in the dresser. Kreacher stared as if he'd never seen Harry before. "Kreacher?"

"No," Kreacher said slowly. "No, Kreacher is too busy for tea. Master would never let Kreacher rest for tea."

"Padfoot won't mind," Harry said, carrying everything back to the kitchen bench.

"No, no tea," Kreacher said. His ears flapped as he shook his head. "The Potter brat should sit down. Kreacher will pour. Master would never forgive Kreacher if the little brat burned himself on the kettle." The elf wandered over and shooed Harry away from the bench. "Master likes scones with his tea," Kreacher muttered. "Oh, yes, Kreacher remembers, scones with jam."

"Do you want help?" Harry asked, getting up from his place at the kitchen table.

"No, no. Kreacher lives to serve the House of Black," Kreacher said, snapping his fingers. Flour, sugar and eggs floated from the pantry. Harry was suddenly very glad they'd emptied and re-stocked the pantry the day before, since Kreacher probably would have made scones regardless of whether the ingredients were fresh or not.

When Padfoot finally came downstairs – almost an hour after Harry and Kreacher – Harry was on his third scone and his teacup was almost empty. "Figured it out, did you?" Harry asked, spreading more jam onto his scone.

"No," Padfoot grumbled, having recovered from looking surprised. "I thought you might have been somewhere in my old bedroom."

"Why'd you come downstairs then?"

"I smelled food," Padfoot said with a sheepish smile. Harry sniggered and passed him a teacup. "You've been productive."

"Thank Kreacher," Harry said, taking a bite of his scone.

"Kreacher?" Padfoot said, freezing with his spoon suspended over the sugar pot. He shot a look at the now rather depleted plate of scones. "Kreacher made the scones?" he asked sharply.

"And the tea," Harry said, unfazed.

"So he is good for something," Padfoot said, frowning at Kreacher's den. "Who'd have known?" Harry frowned too, but at his godfather. Padfoot noticed and sighed, making a face. "_Thank you_, Kreacher," he called. Kreacher mumbled something from behind his den door. Harry's expression cleared instantly, making Padfoot grin.

"What?" Harry asked.

"Your mum used to use that same look when James and I were invited to Ministry events and had to make conversation with stuffy old politicians." Harry grinned. "Some of them were the most conceited bastards I've ever met and all of them were so boring they could put an insomniac into hibernation but we still had to be nice." Harry laughed into his teacup. Padfoot stared at him for a moment, then at his own untouched teacup and then at the plate of scones. "These had better not be poisoned," he said warningly. Harry snorted tea up his nose.

They spent the rest of the day in the first floor bathroom - like the rest of the house, snakes seemed to be a prevalent decoration; the cabinet handles, door-knob, taps and showerhead were all serpentine - trying to restore it to some level of functionality. Padfoot had had Kreacher help - the elf had managed to get the toilet working again - but he'd also had driven them both mad with his endless muttering, so Padfoot had sent him away again.

"This reminds me of detention," he said fondly, spraying the sink with a jet of soapy water from his wand.

"They made you clean sinks?" Harry asked in disbelief.

Padfoot smiled at his shocked expression. "The entire Prefect's Bathroom," he said ruefully. "And we weren't allowed to use magic, either."

"What did you do to earn that?" Harry asked, dropping his sponge.

Padfoot smiled in a way that Harry was getting to know very well; sheepish, but with no trace of regret for doing whatever it was he'd done. "It was James' idea," he said. "The Slytherin Prefect – Yaxley, I think his name was – was a real arse to us... always calling James and me blood-traitors and giving Moony a hard time because he had hand-me-down robes... Prongs already fancied your mum-"

"Is Prongs my dad?" Harry asked, confused.

Padfoot looked shocked. "I haven't told you that yet?" Harry shook his head. Padfoot groaned. "Sorry, kiddo, yes, James was Prongs. Remus was Moony – you know that one – I'm Padfoot and Peter was Wormtail."

"Hang on," Harry said, staring at his godfather. "Your name isn't Padfoot?"

"Er... no," Padfoot said. Harry stared at him. "It's Sirius. Surely you've heard Kreacher say it?"

"Sirius Black," Harry mused, attacking a particularly stubborn piece of soap scum with his sponge. "No, I haven't; he only calls you 'Master'." Padfoot – Sirius – sniggered. "So why did you have nicknames?"

"For our Animagus forms."

"Padfoot for a dog, Wormtail for a rat... What were Moony and Prongs?"

"Moony was... a wolf," Padfoot said, his expression changing slightly. "Prongs was a stag."

"Was my mum an Animagus too?" Padfoot shook his head. Harry took a moment to absorb this. Then: "So what did you do to the Prefect's Bathroom?"

Padfoot grinned. "As I was saying, Yaxley was a real git. He thought he was better than your mum, because he had wizarding relatives and she didn't - remember the m-word?"

Harry nodded and then laughed. "He didn't like her because her parents weren't magical? That's stupid."

"That's what the whole war was about," he said gravely. Harry's eyebrows shot up. "But you're completely right; it _is_ stupid. We decided to get back at him for that."

"How?"

"I wanted to put something in his food," Padfoot said, testing to see if the tap worked. Orange, rusty water sprayed in all directions out of the serpent's mouth and he hastily turned it off again and shook like a dog. "Make him grow a beard, turn his hair pink, something like that. Prongs didn't think that was good enough. I can't remember if it was Moony or your dad that did it, but _someone_ got their hands on a live squid – we put a few charms on it to make it smarter and able to survive in bathwater, and we also spelled its ink to be sticky - and managed to get it into the pipes just before Yaxley's bath."

"Where'd it go wrong?"

"What makes you think it did?"

"You said you got caught," Harry said.

"I blame Moony," Padfoot sniffed. "As our researcher he should have mentioned that the charms we cast on the squid to add qualities to its ink would react with the Engorgement Charms in the bubble taps."

"So what happened?" Harry asked, trying not to laugh at the image that was forming in his head.

"The squid grew," Padfoot said with a barking laugh. He touched the tap with his wand again, muttering something under his breath and then turned it on. It ran normally, with nice, clear water. "The thing had no idea what was going on and sprayed ink everywhere – extra sticky ink, I might add-"

"Did it get Yaxley?"

"Oh, yes," Padfoot said happily. "Yes, I don't think he was properly clean for a month. But it also got us; Prongs, Moony, Peter and I trailed ink from the Prefect's Bathroom to our dormitory." Harry winced sympathetically. "Old Minnie was _not_ happy when she found out."

"Minnie?"

"Professor Minerva McGonagall," Padfoot said. "Head of Transfiguration and also the Head of Gryffindor House."

"Was she strict?" Harry asked. Her title certainly implied it.

"Yes, but fair, too, even if we didn't think so at the time. You'll see what I mean in a few years."

"When?"

"When you go to Hogwarts," Padfoot said, giving him a funny look. "Didn't we talk about this during dinner?"

"Right," Harry said, remembering. He gave his godfather a sheepish smile. "Sorry."

Padfoot grinned, picking up his sponge. "Don't worry about it. But, when you get there – to Hogwarts, I mean – make sure you have a look in the lake."

"Why?"

"Let's just say a certain, very large cephalopod with extremely sticky ink now calls the lake home..."

* * *

"Bloody buggering hell," Padfoot said emphatically on the third day. He dropped a newspaper onto the table.

"What?" Harry said, lowering his spoon.

"I'd half hoped Dumbledore and the Ministry would want to keep this quiet."

"This?"

"That I kidnapped you," Padfoot said with a strained smile. He sighed at the paper and pushed it toward Harry. "They've organised a search."

Harry stared at his photo on the front page of the newspaper, which was right beside one of Padfoot, snarling at the photographer. "How did they get my school photo? And why's it moving?" He remembered the day it had been taken; earlier in the day, Dudley had shoved him and he'd shoved Dudley back, just in time for Mrs Peterson to see.

She'd lectured him on treating his classmates with respect and proceeded to keep him in her sight for the rest of the day to make sure he wasn't going to hurt anyone else. She'd been standing behind the photographer when Harry's photo was taken, glaring at him. It really wasn't surprising that Harry's photographic-self looked so terrified.

"Your Aunt must have had a copy," Padfoot said, sounding distracted. "And they'll have enchanted it to move because wizards aren't used to still photographs."

"Huh," Harry said, beginning to read the article:

_The kidnapping of Harry Potter, the child we all know as 'The Other Boy Who Lived' (pictured above) has put doubts about safety from He Who Must Not Be Named's followers into the minds of the magical community for the first time in seven years. It is believed that mass murderer Sirius Black (also pictured above) approached Potter at a playground near his Little Whinging home on Tuesday night and persuaded him to leave his muggle relatives, who, thankfully, were not harmed during the abduction._

_Albus Dumbledore was responsible for sending the boy to live with the muggles in the first place and is now facing open criticism from the public for not moving the boy sooner. "The Potter boy should have been moved as soon as Black escaped," said one witch from Bath. "Or at the very least, the house should have been placed under Auror supervision."_

_In his statement last night, Albus Dumbledore admitted he himself had thought Harry would be safe in the wards he set up around the Little Whinging home shortly after the defeat of He Who Must Not Be Named. Junior Curse Breaker William Weasley spoke to reporters after investigating the property: "I don't know what happened," said Weasley. "As far as I can tell, the wards were fully operational on Tuesday night and started to decay very late Tuesday or possibly even early Wednesday. All I know is they're gone now." He also stated that the wards were "strong" and that such rapid decay "isn't normal". Clearly Black is behind it._

_After leaving the Little Whinging household, it is believed Black altered his and Potter's appearance before hailing the Knight Bus which took them to the Leaky Cauldron in London. Jeremy Philips, the Knight Bus Conductor conversed with the two without noticing anything unusual. "They seemed nice to me, like a normal father and son," he said during his interview this morning. "I didn't suspect a thing, but I suppose that's a good thing, because I don't have any special training. I might have ended up like Pettigrew."_

_Staff from Gringotts Wizarding Bank confirmed Black and Potter visited and made a withdrawal from the Black family vault, though no figure has been given to Aurors or reporters. When questioned on the topic, staff refused to give any details other than the fact the two were there, due to everything else being "private". Aurors are currently investigating the possibility of Black having a goblin accomplice but so far, the goblins are adamant they will not to become involved in wizarding affairs._

_Black and Potter's whereabouts remain unknown though they are believed to have stayed in Britain. In a statement this morning, Minister Bagnold "urge[s] anyone with any information about either Black or Potter to contact the Auror Office immediately." She also "remind[ed] the public that Black is in possession of his wand and so should not be approached directly." _

_In addition to the investigation led by the Department Of Magical Law Enforcement, wealthy Ministry benefactor Lucius Malfoy has agreed to finance a search led by volunteers: "I find it heart-breaking," said Mr Malfoy as he left the Ministry last night, "that a child as young and helpless as little Harry Potter is in the possession of a man like Sirius Black. As a father of two boys the same age as young Potter, I felt it was my moral duty to assist in any way possible. My wife and I both feel that a little of our gold is a small price to pay for Potter's rescue." Mr Malfoy has also stated he will be joining the search himself when he has the time and is pushing for others to do the same: "I do not believe a few hours of my time, or anyone's time for that matter, is more important than the life of a child. Anyone interested in helping may contact me via owl and I will assign them an appropriate role in the search." _

_Until he is found, our thoughts go out to Harry Potter who is no doubt terrified, and to his muggle relatives, who must have been shaken by the abduction._

"Shaken?" Harry said, choking back a laugh. "Did they talk to the Dursleys at all?"

"Hmm?" Padfoot said, still sounding distant. "Oh, probably not," His chair scraped as he got up to make himself a cup of tea. "Do you want one?" Harry shook his head. "What did you think of the rest of it?" Padfoot asked guardedly, gesturing toward the paper.

"I don't know," Harry said, staring at the headline: _THE BOY WHO DISAPPEARED_. "Everyone seems really worried..."

"I told you there'd be people after us," Padfoot said, sitting down again.

"I just didn't realise there were so many people who'd be looking..." Harry said, scratching polish off the table with his fingernail. Padfoot blew on his steaming tea before looking up at Harry again. "They don't even know me!"

He was surprised to see that Padfoot looked upset. "I've made a real mess of this," Padfoot said, dropping his head into his hands.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, staring at his soggy cereal.

"Stupid," he muttered. "I should have just left you there." Harry stared at his godfather, who was still face down on the table. He waited a few seconds for Padfoot to say something, but he didn't. Hurt and confused, Harry pushed his chair away from the table and stood. Padfoot made a funny sniffing noise and then looked up, confused. "Harry?" he asked, looking puzzled.

Harry turned and walked up the kitchen stairs. He didn't know if he was happy or sad that he couldn't hear Padfoot's footsteps behind him.


	6. A Safe Place

Sirius knocked gently on his old bedroom door. "Harry?" There was no response. "Can I come in, kiddo?" He waited out on the landing for a few seconds and then got impatient. _If he_ didn't _want me to come in, he would have said something. Let's just hope he's a brooder like Prongs and not a shouter like Lils... or me for that matter.  
_  
"Harry, I'm coming in," he said, reaching for the doorknob. Sirius twisted it, only to find it stuck. He frowned and tried again, but this time, the snake's head bit him. _What in the name of Merlin's skinny ankles...? _"Did you lock the door? Harry?" He tried the door again. "This isn't funny, kid." With a loud sigh, he pulled his wand and tapped the door. There was a click and then it swung open.

Sirius stepped into the room as Padfoot and took a cautious sniff. He smelled dust, and a faint trace of both his and Harry's scents, but those were at least a day old. The window wasn't open and a glance told Sirius that it was still rusted shut. He checked under the bed and desk without hope, and even went through his old wardrobe and dressers.

"Harry?" he called after changing back. _Maybe he went into Reg's room, but I don't think either of us have gone in there since we came here..._ Sirius had no sooner stepped out onto the landing when his bedroom door swung shut and locked again. He jumped a foot in the air, and immediately glanced around to make sure no one had seen. He was sure that – wherever he was - James was laughing. "Kreacher!" he called irritably. CRACK! "Are you the one locking the doors? And I order you to tell the truth."

"Kreacher's been tending his Mistress," Kreacher croaked, sinking into a bow. "Kreacher likes his Mistress, oh yes, Kreacher's Mistress doesn't ask Kreacher foolish questions, oh no."

"A yes or no was all I wanted," Sirius said coolly. "Have you seen Harry? I know he came up here but he's not where I thought he was."

"Kreacher hasn't seen the brat."

"Unhelpful little bastard," Sirius muttered. "Bugger off then, back to my hag of a mother."

"You shouldn't talk to him like that," said a quiet voice. _Definitely Lily's son._

Sirius looked up immediately, ears twitching to find the source of the sound. There was a CRACK! as Kreacher Disapparated – Sirius glared at the spot where he'd vanished – followed by three loud clicks. He tried the door to his room and found it had unlocked again, and that the doorknob was just plain silver. There were several faint clicks downstairs that echoed up – presumably more doors unlocking – and then Sirius said, "So it was you locking the doors?"

"I didn't mean to," Harry said, his voice trembling slightly.

_But you obviously didn't want to be found until now... so you accidentally locked every door in the house. James would be proud. _With a quiet chuckle, Sirius crossed the landing and pulled open the door of the cupboard opposite his bedroom. Sitting there, amidst a hell of a lot of dust and some moth-eaten pillowcases, was Harry. Sirius didn't even bother to hide how relieved he was to find him.

"What are you doing in the cupboard?" he asked gently, taking in the tight set of Harry's jaw – very similar to James' – and the resigned scent that was coming off him in waves. _Definitely a brooder._

"Sitting," Harry said, fiddling with his shoelace.

"Why in here, though?" Sirius asked, sitting down opposite him. Harry seemed to think about answering but then shook his head. "All right, then," he said. "We'll skip that one. When are you coming out?" Harry stared at him oddly and then mumbled something. "Sorry, kid, didn't quite catch that."

Harry's cheeks were slowly turning red. "I said that's not usually up to me," he said, staring at the floor of the cupboard.

Sirius closed his eyes as a picture of a small cupboard filled with dust, spiders and - most noticeably - a small bed, popped into his head. "I see."

"Sorry," Harry said hastily. Sirius opened his eyes and was shocked to see his godson looking anxious.

"What for?" he asked calmly.

"Er..." Harry said, looking lost, "I'm not really sure. Sorry's usually enough."

Sirius sighed. "You don't have anything to apologise for, kiddo, that's why you can't think of a reason."

"Oh," was all Harry said. They sat in silence for a few minutes, Sirius trying to decide how to bring up whatever had upset his godson, and Harry staring at his shoes. "So I can come out of here, then?" Harry asked finally.

"Of course," Sirius said, chuckling. "I'm still not sure why you came in here in the first place."

Harry smiled for a moment, but that quickly developed into a thoughtful look. "Habit, I suppose," he mumbled, getting up.

Sirius nodded. "As soon as the bathroom's decent, we'll see about fixing you a bedroom. That way, if you want to be alone, you don't have to sit in a cupboard." He didn't manage to stop his lips from twitching as he said that, though it really wasn't funny.

Harry watched him curiously. "So you aren't taking me back to the Dursleys?"

"No," Sirius said, frowning. "Why would I do that?"

"In the kitchen... you said you should have left me there," Harry said, staring at his feet again.

_Aha._ "I didn't mean I don't want you around," Sirius said, ruffling his godson's dusty hair. "I meant that you deserve better than to be stuck in this dreary old place with only me and Kreacher for company." Harry stared at him, mouth agape. "Don't you agree?" Harry shook his head vigorously, displacing the dust and making Sirius sneeze. "All we've done for three days is clean," Sirius said, frowning as they descended the stairs. "Kreacher's rude to you and I have no idea how to be a parent figure. How can this possibly be better?" Harry was laughing now. "What?" he asked. Harry stumbled down the last step and landed on the floor. "Harry!?"

"I'm okay," Harry said, still laughing.

Sirius grumbled to himself, feeling a little left out of Harry's joke. Harry picked himself up off the landing and - with a massive grin on his face – continued down the stairs. "What's so funny?" Sirius whined as they reached the first floor landing.

"It's not really _funny_," Harry said.

"You're laughing," Sirius pointed out.

"Better to laugh than cry, I guess," Harry said with a shrug. He said this with maturity far beyond his eight-and-a-half years and Sirius had to make an effort to keep his mouth from falling open.

"I think we're overdue for a talk," Sirius said slowly.

Harry's eyes brightened and he assumed an expression much more appropriate for his age. "Really?" he asked excitedly. "What about?"

"What it was like for you growing up," Sirius said shrewdly.

Harry's expression changed from open and eager to unreadable before Sirius could fully comprehend it. "It was boring," Harry said carefully, not moving from his place at the top of the next flight of stairs. "Like I said, I'm happier here."

Sirius might have been convinced if he hadn't said something very similar to Remus seventeen years earlier; early in second year after the truth about Remus' Furry Little Problem came out, Sirius had asked him what it was like to grow up with his condition. Remus had answered and then asked Sirius the same question in regards to his Dark family.

Sirius had told him eventually – after a considerable amount of prodding – and had actually felt better, though he'd been embarrassed to learn James had woken up midway through Remus' story and heard all of his. In the end, it had brought them – him, Remus and James – closer. _Merlin I miss them. _He turned back to his evasive-looking godson. "How about this: you tell me about growing up Dursley, and then you can ask me something."

"It's like I said," Harry muttered without meeting his eyes. "Boring."

"I'll be the judge of that," Sirius said in a tone appropriate for trying to settle a cornered wolf. "You obviously aren't one to share everything with someone just because they ask and that's not a bad way to be-"

"Then what's the problem?" Harry asked.

"You can't go around keeping everything to yourself either," Sirius said gently. "Maybe you've had to until now, but since we're all each other's got for the foreseeable future, it might be nice if we were on the same page."_Trust,_ he added silently, watching Harry think. _You've never had anyone trust you before, have you, or had anyone to trust? _

His former comparison to a cornered wolf suddenly seemed all the more appropriate; Harry assumed an expression uncannily similar to one of Remus' during first year. It only seemed natural that his thought processes would follow the same line; he could like someone, and deem them a friend without necessarily trusting them. And Sirius knew all too well that Remus' attitude had come from relying on himself, and himself alone until it had become instinctive. _What did they do to you?_ he thought toward his godson.

"You said I get one question for answering yours?" Harry said.

"A question, a favour, whatever."

"And it can be anything?"

"Anything at all."

Harry frowned, looking thoughtful. Sirius would have bet anything that he was deciding if it was worth it. "Can I save it?"

"If you'd like to," Sirius said.

"Okay," Harry said.

"Okay," Sirius said a little surprised. He'd honestly expected Harry would need more time to adjust to the idea of sharing.

Harry sat down on the carpeted landing and pulled his knees to his chest. "What do you want to know?" he asked warily.

Sirius followed his example and sat with his back pressed against the banister that overlooked the entrance hall. "What are you willing to tell me?" Harry shrugged, a gesture Sirius was beginning to recognise as an evasive technique. "How about you start with your cousin?"

Harry's mouth twitched. "Dudley and I don't get along very well. I think we did when we were little; I remember playing hide and seek around the house and I remember we used to build blanket forts in the living room. Dudley was always treated better though. He never had to do jobs around the house and he always got presents for his birthdays and for Christmas..." Sirius wondered if that meant Harry had never had presents before. When he thought about how little Harry had brought from Petunia's, he decided - grimly - that he probably hadn't. "-he's allowed to watch television and I'm not... that sort of thing."

"I know what television is," Sirius said proudly. Harry gave him an odd look. Sirius hid a smile, wondering how long it would take Harry to work out that wizards couldn't use ecklictricky like muggles. "Dudley got new things, while you got hand-me-downs," Sirius said, remembering their conversation at the playground. "Is that right?"

Harry nodded. "And if I hit him, I'd get in trouble, but if he hit me, he wouldn't. I- he- At school, he's-" Harry paused, looking thoughtful. "Er... Padfoot? Am I going back to school?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, St Grogory's is back in Little Whinging and we're... er... well, in London."

"Bloody hell," Sirius said aloud. He'd completely forgotten that Harry, who was raised as a muggle, would have gone to a muggle school. "Erm... Do you _want_ to go to school?"

"Er... well, not really," he said.

"You won't miss your friends?" An odd expression flickered over Harry's face and he shook his head. Sirius wondered at that didn't say anything. _Not yet_. "That's easy then. No more school."

For a moment, Harry looked delighted but then a look of horror flickered over his face. "What about Hogwarts?"

"What about it?"

"Will they still let me go? I'll be behind everyone."

"You can have lessons with me," Sirius said. "That's what pureblood kids do and none of them ever have problems." Harry looked relieved. "Now, what were you saying about school? This St Gargoyle place."

Harry laughed. "St Grogory's," he said. "Er... well, Dudley and his gang had it out for me a bit."

"How so?" Harry shrugged. Sirius' eyes narrowed. "Did they ever punch you or your friends, or try to drown you in a toilet?"

"No, they never tried to drown me," Harry said with an edgy laugh.

"Punches?" Sirius pressed.

"Sometimes," Harry said shrugging.

"Your friends too?"

His cheeks took on a red tinge. "Just me."

_Aha._ "Tell me about your friends," Sirius said, watching Harry carefully out of the corner of his eye.

Harry fidgeted. "There... er... there isn't much to tell," he said finally.

There were several questions Sirius wanted to ask but didn't; he'd save them for another time. "What were the teachers like?" he asked instead.

"I had Mrs Baddams the year before last and she was all right. She liked me better than Dudley, I mean. Aunt Petunia talked to Mrs Peterson before term started." He wrinkled his nose. "She never liked me."

"She's the one with the blue wig, right?"

"Yeah," Harry said looking sheepish.

Sirius didn't bother to hide his grin. "You're quite the wizard, kid. You're eight-and-a-half and you've already flown or Apparated, changed the colour of your teacher's hair, almost blinded Privet Drive and locked every door in the house."

"You're loads better," Harry said. "You could do all of that if you wanted to _and_ you're an Animagus."

"I couldn't do any of that at eight," Sirius said.

"Eight-and-a-half," Harry said.

"Irrelevant." Harry scowled but when he glanced away, his mouth twitched. "What about at home?"

"Home?"

"What's your aunt like?"

Harry shrugged. "My hair bothered her."

"She used to complain about James' hair too," Sirius said. Harry's eyes lit up. "She wouldn't let him in any of her wedding photos because his hair was 'as freaky as the rest of him'. Lily was rather put out with her about that. I think Vernon was only allowed in one of Lily's wedding photos, right at the back and that's only because Lily was too nice to cut him out altogether." That drew a laugh out of Harry. "What about your Uncle?"

"You saw what he's like," he said with another shrug.

"He's never abused you, has he?" Sirius asked cautiously, thinking back to the looming figure of Vernon Dursley shaking his nephew.

Harry shook his head vigorously. "He didn't like me but he never, I dunno, _beat_ me or anything." Harry hesitated and then added, "Dudley hit me every now and then."

"Badly?"

"A few bruises."

"Ever had a broken bone?" Harry shook his head. Sirius let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "Whose idea was the cupboard?"

"Dunno," Harry said.

"Why don't you have one of the upstairs rooms?" Sirius had stayed at Number Four several times, back when it had belonged to Lily's parents, not her sister and knew they had at least two spare bedrooms upstairs and one downstairs.

"I'd be in the way," Harry said with an odd expression. "I'm always in the way."

"Not here you're not," Sirius said firmly. "So you just slept in the cupboard?" Harry's expression became thoughtful, as if he were trying to decide how to word what he was about to say. "You'd better not lie to me," Sirius warned.

Harry's expression and scent became guilty. "I wasn't supposed to talk about it," he said by way of explanation. Sirius waited. "Yeah," Harry said finally.

"You slept there?"

"I spent most of my time there," he admitted. "If I wasn't doing housework or at school, anyway." Sirius wasn't sure what his face looked like but Harry was compelled to add, "I didn't have to talk to them and they didn't have to talk to me."

"Sounds like a good system," Sirius said after a pause.

Harry shrugged. "It worked."

"You mentioned housework?"

"Cooking, cleaning and gardening, but only in the back garden." Sirius lifted an eyebrow. It was a gesture Remus had used against him and James, and one that always seemed to get results. "Aunt Petunia didn't want the neighbours talking."

For some reason, that made Sirius smile. It wasn't that it was funny, or that he agreed that neighbours couldn't be trusted. It was that, despite everything else that had happened, Petunia Evans - now Dursley - was exactly the same woman that Sirius had terrorised the first time they'd met.

"Did you earn much pocket money?" he asked, grinning. Harry's pause was enough of an answer. Sirius' smile started to slip but he caught it and fixed it in place. "No? Well, as of now, you get a galleon a week."

"But- Why?" Harry looked stunned.

"Because we've got a lot of cleaning ahead of us and you deserve a reward for helping." From the look on his face, Sirius could see this was a completely new concept for his godson. "It'll be good for you; you'll learn how to manage money and how to save up for things."

"A galleon's too much," Harry said at once. "Gurbock said that was five pounds!"

"I know what a galleon's worth, kiddo," Sirius said, grinning.

"But-"

"But nothing," Sirius said, still grinning. Harry kept mumbling his disagreement. "Otherwise I'll make it two galleons a week." That shut his godson up. Another thought that had evaded him recently brought itself to his attention again. "Speaking of galleons, we need to hide them."

Harry cocked his head. "Them?"

"The money we took out on Tuesday night. We can't just leave a fortune sitting in your rucksack," Sirius said. "We'll leave some of it there, obviously, but we should spread the rest around a bit."

"Why?" Harry asked.

"Just in case we have to leave in a hurry."

"But we're safe here, aren't we?"

Sirius debated between being honest, or being comforting. _He's just spent the past Merlin-know-how-long being honest with me. Besides, I've been honest with him so far, _he thought, _and he's still coping. _"I don't know," he said. "Anyone that knows me knows I hated this place but after they finish searching the places I _do_like, they'll start searching anywhere else I'm associated with. After that it's only a matter of time before they stop by."

"What'll we do?" Harry asked.

"Make it safe."

* * *

Shortly after their conversation on the landing, Padfoot and Harry returned to the kitchen. Padfoot went straight to Harry's rucksack - which had been resting in a chair at the table since they moved in - and retrieved his bags of money. "Are you up for hiding?" he asked.

Harry's eyes widened. "Me?"

"No, the kid behind you," Padfoot said, smirking. "Yes, you," he said, ruffling Harry's hair.

"I s'pose," Harry said.

"Excellent. Try to put an equal amount on each floor so-"

"Padfoot, there are two thousand galleons in each bag," Harry said.

"Fifty galleons and a few muggle bank notes is plenty. You can leave what's left in here and I'll sort it out later." Padfoot's expression flickered as he thought of something. "And _don't_ hide each coin individually." Harry laughed. "Got all that?" Harry nodded. "Good. I'll be in the library if you need me."

"The library?"

"It's a place with books," Padfoot said seriously. "Very dusty books, I might add and-"

"I _know _what a library is," Harry said, exasperated.

"One would hope so." Harry made a face. "I'll be researching," Padfoot said. "I want to make sure we don't end up with any surprise visitors."

It took Harry longer than he'd expected to hide the coins around the house but he was happy with the results. He'd even had the foresight to borrow a piece of parchment and a quill from the study on the ground floor to record all of his hiding places.

"All done?" Padfoot asked when he walked into the library. Harry made his way to the large, curved couch where his godfather was sitting surrounded by dust and books and passed him the piece of parchment. One sleeve of Padfoot's jumper was smeared with dust; he'd obviously used it to clean the table he was working at. "What's this?"

"A list of where I hid everything," Harry said, leaning on the arm of the couch. He'd never have dared do it at the Dursleys.

"Smart kid," Padfoot said, looking pleased. He marked the page of the heavy book he was reading and looked at the parchment. "Tin in the pantry," he read aloud, "filing cabinet in the ground floor study, vase on the drawing room bookshelf, dresser in the guest bedroom, bedside table in the master bedroom and," Padfoot smiled, "a pillowcase in the cupboard on the fourth floor."

"Are they good?"

"Very," Padfoot said, nodding. "One suggestion though: move the stash from the dresser in the bedroom to somewhere in here. It's easier to get to that way."

Harry shrugged. "All right." Then he frowned. "Why?"

"There's a fireplace in here," Padfoot said, gesturing to it, "and it and the one in the drawing room aren't connected to the Floo Network but they're connected to the kitchen fireplace which _is_ connected to the Floo Network. If we have to leave-"

"What's the Floo Network?"

"I suppose it's a bit like the muggle underground," Padfoot said after a moment of thought. "Except we use fireplaces, not stations."

"How do trains fit in a fireplace?" Harry asked.

Padfoot laughed. "They don't."

"Then what carries you?"

"The fire."

"But- don't you- I mean- fire's hot," he finished lamely.

Padfoot didn't laugh as Harry half-expected and a small grateful smile touched his face. "It is," he agreed. "We use Floo Powder to make it harmless. It's still warm, obviously, but it can't burn you. You throw it in, say where you're going and the fire... takes you there... it's sort of hard to explain."

"Do we have any Floo Powder?" Harry asked eagerly.

"No," Padfoot said. "I threw it all out a few days ago." Harry's face fell. "It has a use-by date and I've seen some nasty results when people use it without realising that."

"Like what?"

"Like worse than Splinching," Padfoot said grimly.

"Splinching?"

"When people Apparate – disappear from one place and appear almost instantly in another-" he said, forestalling Harry's next question, "-sometimes, if they aren't concentrating, they leave pieces of themselves behind." Harry felt a disgusted expression settle itself on his face as he pictured a pair of legs lying abandoned in the middle of a street that resembled Privet Drive. "It's not pretty," Padfoot said grimly. "I saw it quite a bit when I was an Auror; we'd be chasing someone who'd be so desperate to get away that they wouldn't be focused enough and... well..."

"Urgh," Harry said, wrinkling his nose.

Padfoot made a face and then frowned suddenly and scribbled something down on his own piece of parchment. "I remembered a ward," he said in response to Harry's confused look. He wrote something else. "And we'll need to buy more Floo Powder," he added with a grin before Harry could ask. Then he sighed. "I think we'll have to go back to Diagon Alley soon."

"Really?" Harry asked excitedly. Padfoot nodded. "Can we have more of a look around this time?"

"I'd like to take you to Quality Quidditch Supplies," Padfoot said thoughtfully. "Eight-and-a-half and you probably don't know what a Bludger is!"

"Is that bad?" harry asked tentatively.

"James is probably rolling in his grave," Padfoot said, his lips twitching. "And Lily will be furious that we've been living together for almost a week and I haven't taught you anything."

"You've taught me loads!"

"Not really," Padfoot said. "I've taught you things that any wizarding kid knows from birth. You were just behind... Tell you what; we'll get wards and maybe even a Fidelius Charm up today or tomorrow and after that, I'll start giving you lessons."

"Magic lessons?" Harry asked excitedly.

"Amidst other things. Here, you'll need this."

Harry accepted his godfather's wand with an eager smile and resisted the urge to wave it and see what would happen. "What for?"

"Fidelius Charm," Padfoot murmured, flicking through a heavy book.

"The charm my parents used?" he coughed.

"That's the one- Aha." Padfoot started skimming through a page of tiny writing.

"How does it work?"

"It's like an Unbreakable Vow," Padfoot said, and then sighed. "An Unbreakable Vow is-"

"Pretty self-explanatory, I'd think," Harry said.

Padfoot smiled. "There are three sets of people. There's the Secret - the person or people the charm's protecting - the Secret Keeper and there's a- well, in Unbreakable Vows they're called Bonders but that's the wrong word in this scenario. More like... a witness. They leave midway through so they aren't actually in on the secret."

"So who's what?" Harry asked.

"You're the Secret," Padfoot said. "I'm the Secret Keeper and Kreacher can be our witness."

Harry shifted one of the books surrounding Padfoot and sat down on the edge of the table. "Is he allowed to be?"

"I don't see why not."

"Does it only protect the house? The charm, I mean."

"Unfortunately, yes. Once we – or you, in this case – leave the boundary - I'm thinking that'll be the front steps - we're fair game again."

"So we're stuck here?" Harry asked. He'd rarely been allowed out at Number Four and he certainly preferred Padfoot's company to the Dursleys', so he didn't think that would be too bad. Padfoot had just mentioned a trip to Diagon Alley though, and Harry was eager to go. He brightened, however, when Padfoot answered.

"No. I think we'll just have to be careful," Padfoot said. "It'll mean disguises when we go out and we'll need some sort of back-up plan if either of us is recognised."

"But can't you Apparate like Kreacher?"

"I can. You can't."

"I'll just stay next to you then," Harry said, shrugging.

"That might not always be possible. What if we were somehow separated, or if there was a duel?"

"Dunno," Harry said. "Couldn't I help?"

"Not yet. But we'll add that to the list of things I have to teach you: Duelling." Padfoot grinned. "We can clean the dining room – it's not like we'll be having people over anyway – and use that as a training room... You'll probably need a wand, too." Harry's eyes brightened at the idea. _A wand! _Padfoot pulled another book toward him and read a few paragraphs. "I suppose there's always the Floo," he said, more to himself than Harry. "But you'd have to find a fireplace and then you'd have to say 'Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place'." His godfather snorted and snapped the book shut. "On second thoughts, perhaps not."

"Would it break the Fidelius Charm?"

"It would mean they know where to find us-" Padfoot said. He reached into his pocket, frowned and then extended a hand to Harry. Harry passed his wand back and Padfoot flicked it, making a book fly out of the shelves and land with a thump on the table. They both coughed in the resulting cloud of dust. "-but I don't think they'd be able to get to us. They'd probably block the Floo Network and catch us the next time we went out." To himself more than Harry he muttered, "I suppose there are always Portkeys..."

"What's a Portkey?"

"Portkey," Padfoot said. "It's sort of like Apparition but you need to be touching something. Unfortunately, if someone got a hold of the Portkey, it would bring them straight here... there are ones with passwords but they're more to stop the Portkey triggering before you want it to."

"But if they didn't know the password they couldn't use it."

"No, but they could find out where it was going."

"How?"

"When you create a Portkey – you're supposed to register them, firstly, but no one does – you have to imagine the place you it'll take you. It's a lot like Apparating in that way. And, since you put so much energy into picturing that location, anyone with a bit of training - an Auror for instance - can see where it is and that would break the Fidelius Charm, since I'd be the one making the Portkey."

"So we're trapped, basically?"

"As long as we aren't seen by anyone when we go out, we're fine."

"And if we are?"

"Then we're trapped," Padfoot said, grumpily. "But if we don't do this, it's only a matter of time before someone realises this is the only place with a connection to me that hasn't been checked, and unfortunately, no ward's strong enough to keep the Aurors out when they come looking."

Harry absorbed this and then frowned thoughtfully. "Hey, Padfoot?" Padfoot raised an eyebrow. "D'you think maybe I could be Secret Keeper? We could swap-"

"No! No! No, absolutely not!" Padfoot shouted, leaping to his feet, his eyes wild and not quite focused.

"Sorry," Harry said in a small voice. "I was just-"

"I know," Padfoot said, seeming to remember where he was. He took a deep breath and sank to the floor, right where he was, despite the couch being only a few inches away. "Sorry," he said in a flat voice. "Sorry, I shouldn't have shouted."

"It's fine," Harry said, a little anxiously.

"No, it's not. It's not your fault..." he managed to get out. "I shouldn't have... I mean... it's just..."

"Just what?" Harry asked tentatively.

Padfoot looked up with haunted grey eyes. "The switch didn't go so well last time," he said, his voice catching slightly.

Suddenly, Padfoot's reaction seemed far more understandable."Right," Harry said, feeling incredibly guilty for even suggesting it. "Sorry... didn't think about that."

"I know... it's not your fault. It's just- urgh!" He aimed a kick at the couch. "Stupid Peter! And stupid me for even suggesting the whole damn thing in the first place!" The bookshelves trembled and Harry could feel_something_ thrumming in the air around them. "I'm sorry, all right!" Padfoot shouted at the roof. "I'm sorry I didn't get there earlier and I'm sorry I trusted him! I'm s-sorry I made you t-trust him!" Everything around Harry – the books, the parchment, the ink wells – flew off the table and crashed against the bookshelves. The chairs and desks that lined the wall by the door fell noisily and the fireplace made a rumbling sound.

"Padfoot?" Harry asked.

Padfoot's eyes focused on him and his lower lip trembled once. The library stilled again. "I'm so sorry, Harry," he croaked. Something in his tone made Harry fairly sure he wasn't apologising for shouting. A single tear ran down Padfoot's cheek. He brushed it away, looking astounded. Padfoot stared at the water on his hand and then he closed his eyes. More tears leaked out and his shoulders shook, but he didn't make a sound.

Harry, without thinking, slid off the arm of the couch and went to sit on the carpet beside his godfather, who was holding his head in his hands. Padfoot didn't move. "It's not- I don't blame you," Harry said.

"You should," Padfoot said, without looking up.

_I don't think he's had a chance to be upset since they died..._ Harry realised with a little jolt. _He was chasing Peter and then he went to Azkaban... and from what he's told me about prison, he was too busy trying to remember that he was innocent to be properly sad about them. And he hasn't cried here... we're both still in the kitchen at night and I haven't heard him. _

"I don't remember my parents, but from what you've told me of them, they wouldn't want you to blame yourself," Harry said in the same tone, trying to be as calm as Padfoot had been when he'd found him in the linen cupboard.

"Probably not," Padfoot said, his voice muffled. "Lils would have smacked me and told me enough was enough by now. And Prongs..." He laughed weakly, but it didn't seem forced. "Prongs would have told me I was a prat and done or said something to make me laugh." He finally looked up and his eyebrows rose as he took in the room. "Oops," he said sheepishly, taking in the mess. Harry laughed. "I'm sorry for shouting," Padfoot said.

Harry shrugged. "It's okay."

"No, it's not," he said, drying his eyes with the back of his hand. He sniffed once and then blinked. "I'm sorry." He offered Harry a small smile which Harry returned. "I think I'm going soft." He shook his head, apparently bemused. "If Prongs and Moony were here, I'd never hear the end of it," he said, and then paused, as if waiting for them to speak.

The silence was almost unbearable.

"So," Harry said, hesitantly in a quiet voice that seemed far, far too loud, "er... Secret Keepers...?"

"Yes," Padfoot said, keeping his voice steady, though Harry sensed it took a little effort. "Why do you think it should be you?"

Harry opened his mouth to say 'because I'm the last one anyone would suspect' and then clamped it shut again. "Well," he said seriously, "when it comes down to it," he said instead, "I'm not the one who _needs_protection."

Padfoot frowned. "I don't think that's quite right, kiddo."

"It is," Harry insisted. "The worst they'll do to me is send me back to the Dursleys or foster me out to a wizarding family. I'd survive - I might not like it, but I'd be safe and looked after until I go to Hogwarts. If_you're_ caught, you'll go straight back to Azkaban. This way, even if they catch me, you're still safe."

"It's a huge commitment for you to take on," Padfoot pointed out.

Harry shrugged. "I can keep a secret."

"Can you now?" Padfoot asked, lifting an eyebrow.

"Well, yeah," Harry said. "I do it all the time."

"What secrets?" Padfoot demanded.

"Not from you," Harry said, grinning and rolling his eyes. "I meant from the Dursleys."

"Like what?" Padfoot repeated, curious now.

Harry shrugged. "I used to sneak out of my cupboard to get food, or watch television when they went out."

"James' son through and through," Padfoot said proudly. "This is a big secret, though, not something like sneaking food. Are you sure you can be trusted?"

"Of course! Even if I couldn't, it's not exactly like there's anyone for me to tell, is there?"

Padfoot nodded thoughtfully. "All right," he said finally, looking serious. "You'll be Secret Keeper, at least until you start school, and then we'll reassess it... you're sure about this?" Harry nodded. "All right. See that book there - the big green one?"

"Yeah?"

"Chapter seven. Get reading."

"Yes, Master!" Harry said in what he thought was a fairly good imitation of Kreacher.

"Don't call me 'Master'... Catch."

Harry looked up just in time to catch the green book. "_Defensive Measures for the Paranoid_?" Harry read, laughing.

"You never met my father," Padfoot said darkly. "Of course, he'd never say 'paranoid'. 'Prepared' was his favourite word. Anyway, chapter seven's for the Secret Keeper."

Harry flipped the book open and began to read.


	7. Return To Diagon Alley

"I trust everyone here remembers Remus Lupin?" Dumbledore said, beaming around at his staff. It was the Easter holidays - not that that affected Remus terribly much, but the Hogwarts staff members had been quite busy until then.

"Of course," McGonagall said, favouring her old pupil with a smile, while Flitwick waved happily. "It's nice to see you again, Remus."

"You too, Professors," Remus said nodding at them both. He smiled around at the others; Sprout, his old Herbology professor, Hagrid, who'd hugged him when he arrived, Emmeline Vance who was teaching Defence, and Professor Quirrell, the young Muggle Studies teacher. The last, though, he was not pleased to see.

"Lupin," Snape said curtly.

_Snivellus. _The thought came unbidden, before Remus could quite smother it. _Damn you, James. You always did say you would corrupt me. _"Snape."

"Now, I trust we all know why we're here," Dumbledore said, leaning back in his chair.

"To discuss the Potter boy," Snape said, with loathing in his tone. "I still fail to see how this affects me, Headmaster. I'm paid to teach, not chase James Potter's mentally unstable best friend - and any children he may or may not have kidnapped - around the country."

"I'm asking for your help, Severus," Dumbledore said in a pleasant, but firm tone. Black eyes met blue and a moment passed before Snape looked away and sighed but didn't argue any further. Remus was surprised at that, but then again, they weren't fifteen any more. Perhaps Snape had grown up as much as he had. "I trust you're still in contact with Lucius Malfoy?"

"It would be remiss of me not to be, after he 'honoured' me with custody over his son in the event of his death."

"Ah, yes," Dumbledore said jovially. "Draco, isn't it?" Snape nodded. "He'll be at Hogwarts-?"

"The year after next," Snape said curtly. "Along with his brother."

_The year after next..._ Remus thought. "And Harry."

The occupants of the room turned to look at him. "If the boy survives," Snape said, looking unhappy.

"He will be," Remus said. It was a slim hope that Sirius would keep Harry alive because of the prophecy, but it was hope nonetheless and Remus was clinging to it with everything he had.

Dumbledore cleared his throat gently. "Back to Lucius, Severus; I want you to join his search for the boy."

"And when might I find the time to do that, Headmaster? Might I remind you that I have a N.E.W.T. class of_twelve_ this year and with examinations a mere two months away-"

"I am well aware, Severus," Dumbledore said, holding up a hand. "But perhaps an hour each Sunday could be set aside." Snape harrumphed and folded his arms. Dumbledore fixed Snape with a thoughtful look. "At the very least," he said finally, "make inquiries about the search's progress." Snape watched him, stony faced. "Lucius will be more open with you than anyone else."

Snape seemed to slump. "Very well, Headmaster."

"Thank you." Dumbledore said sincerely. "Remus, I would also advise you to make contact with Lucius Malfoy."

"Pardon?"

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "I know you and Lucius have had strained relations in the past-" That was sugar-coating it in Remus' opinion. "-but while you've been of great use to the Ministry in the past two months, their search is exclusive to Aurors and Hit Wizards and last I heard, you wanted to be actively searching."

"Well, yes, but-"

"Might I suggest you volunteer to search the muggle world?" Dumbledore continued. "That way, you needn't have much to do with Lucius at all."

"I'll owl him when we're finished here," Remus said decisively.

"Excellent. Minerva, have you had any luck at Number Four?"

"I've visited three times since February as you well know," she said stiffly. "None of the neighbours saw anything. It came as a surprise to most of them that the muggles even had another child!"

Dumbledore frowned. "It seems I will need to revisit Petunia Dursley after all." He sighed. "I imagine she'll be most unhappy."

Snape's lips twitched. "I imagine so, Headmaster."

Dumbledore gave him a searching look and then smiled slightly. "Ah, yes. I had forgotten."

Remus shared a look with McGonagall who looked just as puzzled as he felt. "Have there been any further theories as to _why _the boy was taken?" Flitwick squeaked.

Dumbledore looked to Remus. "If Sirius had wanted Harry dead, he would have been dead by now," he said unwillingly, though it was true. "The fact that they're hiding makes me fairly sure Harry's still alive." _And the prophecy, of course._

"He'll be a Death Eater," Professor Sprout said sadly. "That poor little boy."

"If Sirius wanted to whisk him away and raise him as a Death Eater, he wouldn't have told the Dursleys he was taking Harry," Remus pointed out. "They both would have just disappeared. No, he's keeping him safe so that he can hand him over to Voldemort."

Mirrored on the faces around him were expressions of mingled pity, worry and - in Snape's case - revulsion. "That's all very well and good, Lupin," the Potions Master said. "But how long until Black tires of waiting and decides to kill him himself?" Flitwick trembled and fell off his chair. "Well, Lupin?"

"How am I supposed to know?" Remus asked heavily.

"I merely thought," Snape said silkily, "given your history, that Black might have come to you, looking for help... or an accomplice, perhaps..."

"Severus, really!" Professor McGonagall said, flaring up in Remus' defence. Hagrid stood up, looking angry and then sat down when Dumbledore shook his head. "You're not fifteen anymore!"

"I'm aware, thank you, Minerva!" Snape said, bristling.

"Then do make an effort to act your age!" she snapped. "The Headmaster was friends with Black too and I don't see you implicating _him_! Or me, for that matter!" One of the silver devices on the table in the corner was whirring madly. "Do you think, perhaps, that as his teacher, I taught him everything he knows? That I'm hiding Black and Potter in my office as we speak?"

"No," Snape said sulkily. "But he's..."

"A werewolf?" Remus asked tiredly.

Snape gave him a look of pure hatred. "They're dark creatures. Everyone knows that." Emmeline's face contorted but Remus shook his head at her.

"Oh?" Professor McGonagall's lips were dangerously thin. "I'd have thought you of all people, Severus, would know better than to judge people based on their pasts." Snape opened his mouth to protest, but didn't seem able to find the words. Remus had to concede that it was rather funny to watch a thirty-year-old man being lectured by his elderly colleague. "Or do I need to remind you of your less than exemplary record? Or that your questionable past arises from your own choices, while Remus' arose from circumstances he had no control over-"

"Minerva, that's quite enough," Dumbledore said, quietly. Professor McGonagall subsided, her face bright red.

"It's all right, Headmaster," Snape said, his face unreadable. "I spoke out of hand." Remus raised his eyebrows. Snape smiled nastily. "And I daresay Minerva's merely trying to get her own back... the loss of the House Cup five years running must be taking its toll..." McGonagall's nostrils flared and she shot Snape an angry look. Dumbledore chuckled. "After all, Gryffindors are renowned for their pride..."

"And Slytherins their humility," Remus said wryly. Professor Quirrell laughed nervously.

"Indeed," Snape said, giving him a sharp look. "Are we done here, Headmaster? I have essays to mark tonight if I am to find time to speak with Lucius tomorrow."

"You may leave, Severus, assuming the others have nothing to add." Dumbledore looked around the room but everyone shook their heads. Snape got up and left the office, his black robes billowing out behind him.

_He still looks like a bat_, Remus thought, amused. "Am I needed, Professor?" he asked.

"No, Remus, you may leave." Dumbledore gestured to the office door. "Good luck with that letter."

"I'll need it," Remus said morosely.

"I'll walk yeh down," Hagrid said unexpectedly, getting to his feet.

The pair said their goodbyes and left, and as they were headed down the staircase, Remus asked, "Is everything all right, Hagrid?"

Hagrid patted Remus' shoulder rather clumsily. "Yeh looked like yeh coulda done with company."

Remus smiled. "Perhaps," he admitted. "Thank you." Remus didn't end up going straight home. He found himself seated in Hagrid's hut, with a steaming, flowerpot-sized mug of tea in front of him. "Thank you," he said again.

Hagrid just waved an enormous hand. "'S no trouble at all," he said.

Remus added a liberal amount of sugar to his tea and stirred it with a spoon the size of a hand trowel. "So how have you been? It's been a while since I've visited-"

"Yeh've bin busy," Hagrid said, not at all concerned. "An' good, thanks. Up ter my usual business, I s'pose." Hagrid got up and pulled a batch of rock-cakes from the oven and set them down on the table in front of Remus. Fang raised his head hopefully and wandered over to rest his head in Remus' lap, glancing at the cakes every few seconds. "Fang!"

"It's quite all right," Remus said, giving the boarhound a scratch behind the ears. He felt a little nostalgic, but also a little pleased when the dog whined happily; he'd been taught where to scratch dogs, by a dog- He stopped that thought in its tracks and took a hasty sip of tea.

There was a knock on the door. "Hagrid?"

"Do yeh mind?" Hagrid asked, glancing at the door.

"Not at all," Remus said.

"Help yehrself to a cake," Hagrid said, getting up to open the door.

Remus, who had years of experience of dealing with Hagrid's cooking, took one and while Hagrid was fumbling with the lock, cut it with a murmured, "_Diffindo"_, and fed most of it to Fang while Hagrid wasn't looking.

"How are yeh, Charlie, Tonks?"

"Wotcher, Hagrid," said a girl's friendly voice.

"Good, thank you," a boy said pleasantly. "Are you busy? We thought we might stop by and see how you've been."

"Tha' was nice of yeh!" Hagrid said. His tone turned a little sad. "I've got Remus-"

"Feel free to invite them in, Hagrid," Remus called. "I don't mind."

Hagrid turned and beamed at Remus - who smiled in response - and then stepped back to allow two older students - seventh years if Remus had to guess - inside. The girl tripped on the welcome mat and the boy caught her without any sign of conscious thought. Clearly this happened a lot. The early April sun followed them in.

"Hello," the boy, a stocky redhead in Gryffindor robes - and a Quidditch Captain badge - called with a cheery wave. He crossed the hut and offered Remus his hand. "Charlie Weasley."

"Remus Lupin. I know your parents, I think," Remus said, smiling. He didn't mention that it was only because he had known Gideon and Fabian Prewett - and by extension their older sister, Molly - in the war.

Charlie gestured to the Hufflepuff girl - she was slim with a heart-shaped face and short, vivid yellow hair - beside him. "This is Nymphadora Tonks," he said with a wicked grin.

The girl turned on him, looking annoyed - her hair turned a bright tomato red as if to match her mood - then rolled her eyes and looked back to Remus, seeming curious. "It's just Tonks," she said irritably. Her hair went back to yellow as she offered him her hand. "Nice to meet you anyway."

"You too," Remus said. "Are you aware that your hair just changed colour?"

"My hair?" the girl asked. Her hair began to flash - red, blue, green, purple, orange, pink, black, white and back to yellow again before the cycle repeated. "I'm not quite sure what you mean." Remus smiled and a moment later she smiled back. "I'm a Metamorphmagus," she explained and as she did so her hair grew, became curly, switched to dreadlocks and then returned to the short, spiky style it had been before.

"Impressive," Remus said. Then he frowned. "Did you say Tonks?"

"Yes, and if you call me Nymphadora I'll-"

"You aren't Ted and Andy's daughter?" he asked, wondering how many Metamorphmagus girls of roughly the right age there were with a bizarre first name and a familiar last one.

"I thought I knew you somewhere!" she said triumphantly, drowning out Charlie's, "Ah, rock-cakes! Er... Yum..."

"I went to school with your mother's... sisters," he said, not able to bring himself to talk about Sirius.

"I see," Nymphadora said, looking curious. "Then you would have known Sirius Black."

Remus winced. "I did, yes." He, Sirius and James had used to babysit her, in fact. He didn't say this but he was unable to help himself asking, "Do you still enjoy Potions?"

Her eyes narrowed. "How do you know that?"

Remus ended up telling her that he had babysat her before and ended up recounting one particularly eventful visit; she'd been brewing them potions - sugary water, actually - and James had taken it upon himself to charm them all to show the effects she said they'd have. Remus had ended up with spotty, pink skin and a ridiculously high voice, Sirius with a unicorn's horn and hooves and James himself with cat ears and a tail. The little girl had found it all terribly amusing. She'd then talked Sirius into hiding and taken on his appearance. Both he and James had played along - though they'd noticed immediately that it wasn't him, because when had Sirius ever worn one of Ted Tonks' old football shirts? - until she'd gone back to her usual self.

Charlie was howling by the time Remus had finished and he slopped tea all over himself but hadn't noticed or didn't care. Nymphadora - Remus couldn't bring himself to think of her by her last name, feeling it would be impolite - was laughing too, her hair a pleasant orange that almost matched Charlie's; she'd seemed to recall various parts of the story as they went - she'd been around eight at the time, and old enough to remember. Hagrid had brought a tin of treacle fudge over and was beaming around at everyone as he refilled their mugs. Fang had gone to drool on Charlie.

Remus found himself enjoying himself and feeling lonely all at the same time; on one hand, it was nice to be in such a friendly environment, listing to the friendly banter between the two seventh years but on the other hand, it reminded him all too strongly of when he, James, Sirius, Peter and even Lily had been that age.

A few years could change everything, Remus knew all too well, and he found himself wondering whether the pair opposite him would be safe from life's cruelty, if they'd be forced to live through it - like he had - or if they'd be killed by it - like James, Lily and Peter had been. He didn't let himself think about either of them following Sirius' path. _But Sirius had seemed friendly at seventeen too..._

* * *

"Just so you know," Padfoot warned, pausing with his hand on the door to Ollivander's Wand Shop, "this bloke is creepy. And he knows... well, everything."

"He'll know who we are?" Harry asked.

"I'd be surprised if he didn't," Padfoot said.

"Shouldn't you wait out here, then?" Harry said, shooting Padfoot a nervous look.

"Nah. Besides, you getting a wand is like you taking your first steps, or saying your first word. I have to be there, it's my job." Harry decided they'd leave if there was any possibility of the man calling the Aurors. "In you go."

Harry stepped into the tiny shop, almost stumbling; he was taller, today, as part of his disguise. Inside was dusty - Harry was well used to dust now - with a counter only a few feet inside the door. Behind that were shelves stocked with thousands of boxes. Padfoot slipped in behind him and closed the door. He cast a doubtful look at the spindly chair in the corner before he sat down gingerly. He sat mostly facing Harry and the counter, but every few seconds his eyes would flick to the window to make sure no one was coming. It was the first time they'd been in the magical world since that night in February and both were a little on edge.

"Good morning," a soft voice said, making Harry start. Harry heard Padfoot suck in a breath behind him and then shift.

"Er... hello," Harry said, looking to his godfather for help.

Padfoot just grinned and mouthed, "I told you."

Harry turned back to the man. He was old, with pale, misty eyes and wispy white hair. Mr Ollivander lifted Harry's hand and examined it. He was yet to blink. "I wondered if I would see you at all, Mr Potter," Mr Ollivander said softly. He turned his silvery eyes on Padfoot. "There are some rather unsavoury rumours going around at the moment."

"We've heard," Padfoot said grimly.

"You have your mother's eyes," Mr Ollivander said turning his attention back to Harry. "It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work." Mr Ollivander let Harry's hand fall. "Your father on the other hand, used a mahogany wand. Phoenix feather. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. I do say he favoured it..."

Mr Ollivander brushed Harry's fringe - blond today - away from his scar. Harry resisted the urge to bat his hand away and flatten his hair. "I'm sorry to say I sold the wand that did this..." he said. "Thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. A powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands...if I'd known then what it was going into the world to do..." He sighed and looked back to Padfoot. "Cypress, wasn't it? Fifteen inches."

"And dragon heartstring," Padfoot said carefully.

"Another powerful wand, if in a different way. And not an evil wand, at least not to start with..." He gave Padfoot a piercing look.

"It was never an evil wand," Padfoot said quietly.

"You still have it then?" Padfoot hesitated and then nodded. "May I see it?" Mr Ollivander asked.

"As long as you promise to give it back to me, unharmed," Padfoot said sternly.

"Yes, yes. It was a loyal wand, I seem to remember. I doubt I could resell it even if I wanted to and it would be a shame to destroy something so lovely." Padfoot gave Harry a look and passed his wand to the old man who stroked it and held it to his ear. Everything was quiet for a moment and Harry took the time to contemplate the sanity of the wandmaker and then Mr Ollivander sighed and passed the wand back to Padfoot.

"No, it was never an evil wand," he said with a distant smile. "Well now, Mr Potter. You're here rather earlier than is normal but with you being who you are, I cannot find it in myself to be surprised..." He produced a tape-measure from a pocket in his robes. "Which is your wand arm?"

"Right," Harry said; Padfoot had let him try his wand to perform a few basic charms, though Padfoot's wand was rather unpredictable. Sometimes, it would hardly do anything at all but on other occasions it would enhance Harry's spell significantly, like it had the night they left Privet Drive.

"Hold it out... yes... now stay there."

"Hold on," Padfoot said. He waved his wand and Harry shrank a good few inches, back to his normal size.

Mr Ollivander gave them both curious looks. "That could have made things difficult," he said finally, and then smiled. "It always was a good wand for non-verbal spells." Padfoot nodded. Mr Ollivander brandished the tape-measure and stepped toward Harry again. "I trust your guardian has briefed you on the rudiments of wandlore?"

"Yes, sir," Harry said. "The wand chooses the wizard, right?"

"So you were listening that day," Mr Ollivander said to Padfoot. "I was never sure... Yes, Mr Potter, that is essentially it. Each wand is unique in the same way that each wizard is unique." The tape measure was now measuring between Harry's nostrils and Harry went cross-eyed trying to watch it. A badly smothered guffaw from the corner made glare over at Padfoot. "We use a variety of wand-woods here, and the cores are Dragon Heartstring, Unicorn Hair or Phoenix Feather..."

He continued to chatter as he measured Harry - why the width of the space between his eyes was important Harry had no idea - and then Mr Ollivander stepped back. "That will do." The tape-measure dropped to the ground and coiled up, like a snake. He flitted behind the counter. For a moment, Harry feared he might be going to call the Ministry, but he returned within a few seconds clutching a stack of boxes. Harry relaxed. "Try this one, Mr Potter." Harry accepted a slim, black wand. "Ebony and Unicorn hair. Twelve inches. Precise." Harry thought that sounded like a girl's wand but he gave it a wave anyway.

The inkwell on the counter exploded, soaking Harry and Mr Ollivander. Padfoot was chuckling from his corner. "I don't think it likes me," Harry said.

"That wand doesn't seem to like anybody," Mr Ollivander said, dabbing at his robes with a handkerchief. He gestured for Harry to put the wand down. "Perhaps this one," he said, offering Harry a slightly crooked wand. "Maple and Phoenix feather. Seven inches. Rather whippy." This time, Harry had hardly raised the wand before it was snatched away from him. "Pear and Dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Lithe." This one burned Harry's hand when he tried to hold it. He swore under his breath - in the two months he and Padfoot had been living together, he'd learned some good ones - and handed it back to the wandmaker.

Padfoot seemed to be enjoying himself, watching Harry reject and be rejected by what must have been forty wands. He'd tried every core Ollivander's offered, and at least one of each of the types of wood and he was beginning to feel Mr Ollivander was running out of words synonymous with 'springy'. Harry'd also managed to destroy half the store; he'd set the counter on fire, vaporised one of the legs of Padfoot's chair, collapsed one of the shelves and made a substantial hole in the roof when one of the wands had released what could only be described as a lightning bolt.

"A difficult customer," Mr Ollivander said, growing happier and happier with each rejection. "No worry, we will find you a perfect match... Perhaps something more unusual... Yes, I don't see why not..." He disappeared and returned a moment later clutching a black box. "Holly and Phoenix feather. Eleven inches. Nice and supple."

Harry took the wand. The moment he touched the smooth wood, heat rushed through his fingers and up his arm, but it was pleasant, not like the burning sensation from the pear wand. He also recognised the feeling; it was the same tingling feeling he'd had before he ended up on the roof of the school kitchens, before Mrs Peterson's wig had turned blue, and the same feeling he'd had when he locked all of the doors at home in his first week living with Padfoot. "I can feel it," Harry said uncertainly.

"Give it a wave," Mr Ollivander breathed, hardly visible behind the pile of wand boxes on the counter.

Harry did and a stream of red and gold sparks burst from the end of it and fizzled in the air around him. Padfoot was beaming. "Oh bravo!" Mr Ollivander cried. "Yes indeed. Very good... and curious. Yes, very curious."

"What's curious?" Harry asked, passing the wand back - a little reluctantly - so that Mr Ollivander could wrap it.

"I remember every wand I've sold, Mr Potter. Every single wand. And it just so happens that the Phoenix who gave this feather gave another - just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand, when its brother, why, its brother gave you that scar." Harry shared a look with Padfoot who looked troubled. "Curious how these things happen... I think it is safe to say we can expect great things from you, Mr Potter. After all, He Who Must Not Be Named did great things too... terrible, yes, but great."

Harry shivered. Padfoot was right. This man was _creepy._ "What did I feel when I picked the wand up?" Harry asked as he paid.

"Your magic," Mr Ollivander said, looking pleased with the question. "Wands are only a medium, after all. A very powerful medium, mind, but a medium nonetheless. They have a magic of their own, but it cannot be harnessed without a wizard. A wizard, however, can have magic without a wand."

Mr Ollivander passed him the brown package that was his wand and bowed them from his shop - though only after Padfoot had re-cast the charm to make Harry taller again.

"That was interesting," Harry said.

"Always is," Padfoot said. "Unwrap your wand. As of now, it goes everywhere with you."

Harry did just that and tucked the wand into the back pocket of his jeans. Padfoot looked like he was going to say something funny but thought better of it. "Where are we going now?"

"Floo Powder," Padfoot said. "There used to be a peddler by the Apothecary but I think that's gone..." They wandered for almost ten minutes before they finally found a stall near the Ice Cream Parlour. Padfoot sent Harry to get ice cream while he bought a bag of the sparkly powder and an owl order address from the peddler. "An owl next, I think," Padfoot said. "Then we're set up for owl orders and we won't need to come out as often."

"I saw an Owl Emporium before," Harry said around a mouthful of his sundae.

"Eeylops?" Padfoot asked.

Harry shrugged. "I think so."

"From memory, that was down the Leaky Cauldron end." Padfoot led Harry down the street and into the Emporium. Harry hesitated, his foot half in the door; it was dark inside, lit only by oil lamps scattered at random intervals and the small amount of natural light that came in through the door. All around them were glistening pairs of eyes, the sound of rustling feathers and quiet hooting.

"Hello, there," a witch said, making her way over to them. "Do you need help or are you happy looking?"

"We're looking for an owl," Padfoot said.

Harry snorted and then ducked, laughing as Padfoot tried to smack the back of his head. "Don't blame me, you said it!"

Padfoot scowled and tapped the top of Harry's head. "They aren't dead at all, are they? They're hiding in there, mocking me."

"Who's dead?" the witch asked, looking worried.

"Er... My last owl," Harry said, hurriedly assuming a stricken expression. Padfoot choked.

"Oh, I'm sorry, love," she said, patting his shoulder. She shot Padfoot a dirty look for laughing. Harry nodded, trying to look miserable. "I know it's hard losing a pet... they'll always have a special place in your heart though, and I've always found it's best to ease the pain by finding another pet to keep you company."

"Yeah... er... that's what I was hoping," Harry said. "And I've always liked owls."

"So have I," the witch said. "I've always found them to be intelligent creatures, much smarter than cats or dogs - or Merlin forbid, _toads_ - and much more practical. Muggles seem to think dogs can carry newspapers, but I've yet to see it." Padfoot growled quietly. The witch gave him a funny look. "Can I get you a drink, sir?"

"No," Padfoot said. "You could show us the owls though. That'd be great."

"Are you looking for anything particular?" the witch asked.

"An owl," Harry said, with a sly look at his godfather.

"He's off to Hogwarts this year," Padfoot lied, nodding in Harry's direction.

"Oh, enough said," the witch said brightly. "You'll be sending packages and letters regularly, I'd imagine?" Harry grinned, nodding. "You'll need something strong, then," the witch said, tapping her chin. "Something from our larger range..." She clicked her tongue in thought and then smiled. "We've got a few eagle owls," she suggested. "They're popular among the purebloods."

"Yes, I know," Padfoot said tersely. "I'd prefer something a little different." The witch looked curious about his reaction. Harry tried to think of an excuse, but Padfoot beat him to it. "His last owl was an eagle owl," he murmured to the witch, tilting his head in Harry's direction.

"In that case," she said hurriedly, "we have great horned owls. They're a little rarer."

Padfoot shook his head. "They scare me," he said. "Something about the eyes... they always look like they're frowning." Personally, Harry had nothing against horned owls but he said nothing. It was a shared owl, so they should both agree on it.

"We sold our last barred owl on Monday," she said frowning. "And we don't get any more until next week." Her eyes brightened. "Do you know what, though? We do have something a little rarer if you're interested."

"What?" Harry asked.

"We've got a snowy owl in at the moment. She's only young but some people like them better that way, since they're easier to train."

Padfoot and Harry shared a look. "Can we see her?" Padfoot asked.

"Of course." The witch led them through the shop, occasionally shooing one of the free roaming birds out of her way, until they reached a slightly brighter section. There were a number of younger owls - even some cages set up with nesting mothers - and they found the owl sitting imperiously on a perch at the back.

Harry would never have guessed she was a snowy owl; she was grey, and every picture he'd ever seen had shown snowy owls as white. She was covered in an uneven coat of downy grey feathers, though her wings were speckled with black and white. Her golden eyes turned on them, almost haughtily, and Harry almost had to laugh at the way her demeanour contrasted her motley appearance.

"She's certainly different," Padfoot said, looking amused.

"She'll be stunning when she loses her baby feathers though," the witch said. The owl clicked her beak as if agreeing.

"Can she fly?" Padfoot asked.

"Of course."

"That's all that matters, then," Padfoot said, shrugging. He turned to Harry. "What do you think?" The owl nibbled his finger and rubbed her beak against his hand. Padfoot smiled. "How much?"

"Ten galleons," the witch said.

"For an owl?" Padfoot asked, arching an eyebrow.

"She's a rare breed," the witch said.

"Fair enough," Padfoot said, fishing in his pocket for the coins.

The witch helped them find a cage that would still be large enough for her when she'd finished growing, and talked Harry - since Padfoot had got bored and was now poking an irritable-looking barn owl - through the basics of caring for her. They also bought some Owl Treats that the woman said would help with training.

They left the shop and all three of them blinked in the daylight. "Let the owl out," Padfoot said. Harry did and she hopped out and perched on Padfoot's shoulder. He had a quick look around and, once he'd ensured there was no one around said, "Tell her the home address and have us meet her there."

"Can't you?"

"Not if you want her to find it."

It took Harry a moment to realise what he meant. Then he nodded. "Okay, er... Could you meet us at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place?" Harry felt rather silly but the owl hooted once and took off, her wing clipping Padfoot's nose.

"Excellent." Padfoot shrunk the cage and tucked it into a pocket. "She would have been a pain to carry around," he explained. Harry nodded. The headed up the street again. Harry had thought they were going to the bookshop but apparently educating him in the matters of Quidditch was higher on Padfoot's list of priorities; he was quite literally dragged through the door by his eager godfather.

Inside was larger than Harry had expected. It was brightly lit, and brightly decorated. One wall - the one that included the storefront window - had broomsticks of every size and make mounted to the reddish wooden panelling that was consistent throughout the entire store. The second wall was dedicated to equipment - large red balls that Padfoot called Quaffles, black ones called Bludgers and tiny Golden Snitches, as well as heavy wooden Beater's bats, gloves, goggles, boots and every type of padded, protective gear ever to exist.

The other two walls were dedicated to the Quidditch league, with large team banners, team posters and posters of individual players. On shelves below these were books - either about the teams or about individual players - and various merchandise; there were common things like hats, scarves, badges of every shape and size and figurines and there were also autographed robes, bats and balls.

Padfoot dragged him over to a display table by the counter, where little plastic figurines were flying over a scaled down pitch. "See him? The one hovering in the middle?" Harry nodded. "He's the Seeker..." Padfoot set about explaining the rules of the game. It was easy enough to follow, Harry thought, and he was keen to try it, though he wasn't sure when he'd get the chance.

"Sorry, love," a middle-aged woman said, stumbling over a container of broom-polish.

"S'okay," Harry muttered absently, still watching the little figures.

"And you wonder where Dora gets it from," a round-bellied man told her affectionately.

The woman harrumphed and for a moment looked quite intimidating; she was tall with grey eyes, brown hair and high cheekbones. The man - her husband, Harry decided - winked. The woman's face softened entirely as she smiled.

"Hey, kid, come have a look at these," Padfoot called. He was standing by a broom display, pointing at a barrel of golden balls.

"Are they Snitches?" Harry asked, reaching for one.

Padfoot caught his hand. "Don't touch one unless you're buying it," he warned. "They've got flesh-memories and the last thing anyone wants is a Snitch that doesn't recognise them." Harry put his hands in his pockets so he wouldn't be tempted to touch. Padfoot laughed at him. "You're definitely your Mum's."

"What do you mean?"

"James would have begged to buy one by now."

"I thought you said Dad played Chaser?"

"He did, but he played Seeker too; he was a Seeker to start with though because there were no Chaser positions available when we were second years. From third year until sixth he played Chaser and then in seventh he went back to Seeker."

"Why?"

"Davey Gudgeon was the year above us - played Beater until his third year and then there was an incident with the Whomping Willow and his hand-eye coordination wasn't good enough for Beating so he took up Seeking instead."

"Incident with the Willow?" Harry repeated.

"It's a tree at Hogwarts. There was a game trending through our second year to see who could get closest... we Gryffindors always excelled, of course, but Gudgeon nearly lost an eye. It stopped after that..."

"Lost an eye?!"

"The tree hit him," Padfoot said, shrugging. "Very messy."

"Isn't Seeking harder than Beating? I mean, the Snitch is smaller."

"Yes, but the Snitch isn't trying to hit you. If you miss a Bludger though and it flies into you..." Harry winced; earlier, he'd seen one of the figurines hit by a black ball the size of a ball-bearing. The figurine had lost an arm (though Padfoot had assured him that was an exaggerated effect and the worst that really happened was a fracture). "Anyway, Prongs played Seeker when he left because no one else could - the only one interested was a first year and everyone knows firsties can't play."

They drifted over to look at broomsticks - Padfoot was curious about how they'd improved in the last seven years. The woman who'd tripped over earlier was there with her husband; "I still think we should get her the owl," she said, inspecting a sleek broomstick.

"Dromeda, I'm telling you, she'll want the broom, not a bird. Besides, she's already got that ruddy cat-"

"Yes, Ted, but what's a broom going to help her with?" the woman said, dodging another display. "Owls are practical-"

"Dromeda, she studies hard. She'll have to if she's ever going to be accepted by the D.M.L.E.." The woman nodded. "We should get her something _fun_."

"This is why you're the favourite," the woman said accusingly.

"Of course," the man said. "It wasn't _my_ idea to name her Nymphadora..." Padfoot's head snapped up and his face drained of all colour. The woman shoved her husband, laughing. "Excuse me?" A shop assistant appeared. "We'd like to order a Comet two-sixty."

"Excellent choice," the man said, grinning. "We're out of stock for the moment, unfortunately, but we'll be getting some in on the sixteenth-"

"That's fine," the woman said smiling. "As long as it's ready to put on my daughter's bed by the twenty-fourth-"

Harry didn't hear the rest; Padfoot grabbed him and dragged him behind a shelf stacked with broom compasses. "You know them?" Harry guessed.

"The woman's my cousin," Padfoot said. Harry took another skeptical look. He didn't think she looked like Padfoot at all except for maybe the eyes, but then, he didn't resemble Dudley. They waited until her back was turned and then slipped out of the shop door and blended in with the holiday crowd.


	8. Victims Of War

It was always cold and windy in Azkaban, Draco thought grumpily, as he tried in vain to smooth his hair down. He, Mother and Hydrus stepped away from the rusted key that was their Portkey and headed up the narrow stone path that wound up the side of the cliff face.

At the top of that there was a big, grey archway that marked the edge of the prison - Draco had been daunted by it the first time he came but it no longer scared him at all - and then the path split into three.

The left headed off to the rows of cells, where Draco hadn't ever been before; Mother never let him go and Hydrus didn't want to, the right path went to the guardroom where Mother said they kept the prisoners' things - Draco hadn't been there either - and the middle path went to a big, grey stone building.

At either side of the entrance were Dementors. They were the only thing in Azkaban that wasn't grey, and they wore big black robes with a hood and made Draco feel awfully cold no matter how many layers he wore.

The inside of the building was grey too but it wasn't windy and the Dementors weren't allowed inside. Draco liked it much better. There was a big rusty gate that led to the rest of the building but Draco knew from previous visits that the guards had to let them in.

Mother rang a little bell that hung from a lamp fitting and then they waited - Hydrus shivering and tightening his travelling cloak compulsively, Mother looking at her nails and then her hair and Draco trying to copy Mother by looking at his own nails - until footsteps approached and a tall, blond guard appeared on the other side. His robes were black like a Dementor's.

"Hi there," he said.

Mother gave a twitch of her lips that wasn't a quite a frown but was close. "I was expecting Ernest."

"He wasn't feeling well," the guard replied. "Went home about an hour ago. Who're you here for?"

"My sister. Madam Lestrange," Mother said.

"Let me grab my cloak and I'll be right out," he said.

"Right out?" Mother asked.

"To take you to her cell," the guard replied, looking puzzled.

Mother's expression soured slightly. "Did Ernest not tell you about the visiting procedure?"

"Visiting procedure?"

"Ernest allows Bellatrix and I to meet in one of the interview rooms."

The guard frowned. "That's not prison policy, Mrs-"

"Malfoy," Mother said, arching an eyebrow.

The guard paled slightly but said, "Mrs Malfoy, we don't allow prisoners to leave their cells. You're more than welcome to visit your sister but-"

"And what of my sons?" Mother asked. The guard frowned at Draco and Hydrus, as if he'd forgotten they were there. Draco frowned back. "Are you suggesting I allow them to be exposed to the other prisoners? To the Dementors?"

The guard let out a noisy breath. "Bloody hell," he said.

"Watch your mouth around my children," Mother said coolly.

"Sorry. Look, since you've got your kids, I'll make the exception, but just this once, and just 'cause it's Easter."

Mother smiled politely and he let them through the gate and further into the building. He said something to one of the guards - several of them were sitting around a large table playing Exploding Snap while Mother looked on in disgust - and then turned back to them and said, "Jordan and Carrow'll bring her in."

"Alecto," Mother said, looking surprised as one of the guards - a woman Draco noticed, and an ugly one at that - stood.

"Mrs Malfoy," the woman replied, bobbing her head. She followed the other guard, a dark-skinned man out through the gate.

"Follow me," their guard said. "Room Four's free."

"Thank you," Mother said. "Keep up," she called to Hydrus and Draco.

"I don't even want to see Aunt Bella," Hydrus muttered.

Draco glanced ahead to make sure Mother wasn't listening and said, "Neither." Aunt Bella, to put it simply, was mad, and rather scary.

The guard unlocked a door with a tap of his wand and let them inside. Mother settled herself on the only chair in the room and began to look at her nails again. "Where are we supposed to sit?" Hydrus asked the guard.

The guard looked at them stupidly and then muttered something about going chairs. He left the room. "Not very bright, is he?" Draco asked. Hydrus sniggered. "I mean, what's the point of being a wizard if you never use your wand?"

"A Mudblood for sure," Mother said dismissively. They waited in silence and then the door opened and the woman Mother had greeted before walked in, followed by Aunt Bella. Aunt Bella was a tall woman with tangled black hair, hooded eyes and a heavy jaw.

The left sleeve of her prisoner's robes was torn - as always - so that she could show off her Dark Mark. When the guards showed signs of staying, Mother folded her arms, wearing an expression that unnerved even Father.

"Are we not entitled to our privacy?" she asked, arching an eyebrow in a way Draco could not yet manage.

The male guard frowned at her. "It's not safe-"

"This is my sister," Mother said, incredulously. The guards shifted uncomfortably. "I have my wand," she said with a pointed look in their direction. They shuffled out and Mother cast a Silencing Charm on the room as soon as the door clicked shut, and then she tucked her wand into her pocket and hugged Aunt Bella.

Hydrus went next and then Draco - who noticed she smelled like rocks and sweat and dead things - and then they sat.

"You look more and more like your father each time I see you," Aunt Bella said, staring at the space between Hydrus and Draco. They exchanged an uncertain look.

"Thank you, Aunt Bella," Hydrus said finally.

"A good looking man," Aunt Bella said, crossing the room to look more closely at Hydrus, "your father is. He's not much use for anything else, unfortunately, but Cissy's always gone for looks rather than practicality."

"Enough," Mother said in a sharp tone.

Aunt Bella pinched Hydrus' face between her thumb and a bony finger and twisted his head to better see it. "You've got your Mummy's eyes," she said, staring at him. "And her nose. I never could manage to turn mine up the way she can."

"Bella," Mother said warningly.

"Relax, Cissy," Aunt Bella said, releasing Hydrus as she tottered over to Draco. He sat very, very still. "I'm just getting reacquainted with my nephews' faces. Dementors are bad for the memory, you know." She gave a mad little laugh and seized Draco's face, her unkempt fingernails digging into his cheeks. He resolved to have a bath the moment he arrived home.

"You look like Daddy too," she said. Draco gave her a weak smile, not sure what to say. "With Mummy's smile!" Aunt Bella exclaimed. "I suppose yours is just as rare..." She made a tsking noise and her dark eyes met Draco's grey ones. "You know, those could almost be Black eyes."

"Black eyes?" Draco dared ask as Aunt Bella let him go.

"My eyes." Aunt Bella's eyes were a dull, dead grey. Draco shivered and fervently hoped not. "Regulus' eyes, but you probably don't remember him. I don't suppose you've ever met Andy or Sirius?" Both Draco and Hydrus shook their heads. "They've got some self respect at least," Aunt Bella commented.

"Of course."

"How _is _Andy? Still married?"

"I wouldn't know," Mother replied.

"You went to her wedding, didn't you?"

Mother's cheeks turned a pale pink. "That was years ago, Bella."

"But you still went."

"I had to see if she was happy," Mother answered, staring at her hands.

"If marrying a Mudblood is the cost of happiness, I'd rather be miserable," Aunt Bella said primly. "I suppose it doesn't really matter if Andy's happy or not anymore." Mother didn't say anything. "And Sirius?" Aunt Bella continued. "Has he been caught?"

"No, but he's bound to slip up, and when he does, Lucius-"

"Bound to slip up?" Aunt Bella cackled. "Our tricky little cousin?"

"Well, yes, he's mad-"

"Mad?" Aunt Bella asked. "Oh, no, he's not mad. I had the cell two away from his for three years, remember? Everyone else would scream all through the night, but no sound ever came from his cell, except for a whispered name in his sleep but there was nothing mad about it, I assure you. They had to move him to a different cell," she said, her lip curling, "one with more Dementor exposure and even then..."

"They say he served the Dark Lord," Mother murmured.

Aunt Bella snorted. "Him?" she asked derisively. "No, Cissy. I don't know what happened with the Potters, but it wasn't our dear cousin that did it." Mother stared at her hands, which were clasped neatly in her lap. Aunt Bella remained on her feet. "Has there been news?" she asked after a slight pause. Her voice was breathless, excited.

"Nothing," Mother said.

Aunt Bella's face fell slightly. "He's alive, Cissy. I know He is."

"You've said so before," Mother said gently.

"Yet you still don't believe me! Why don't you believe me, Cissy-" Aunt Bella asked plaintively.

"There's no proof," Mother said curtly.

"Have you looked?"

"For what, Bella?" Mother asked.

"Anything."

"There is nothing," Mother said. "Not even rumours to suggest He even exists. If there were, Lucius would stop at nothing-"

"Lucius," Aunt Bella sneered and then opened her mouth again but Mother was quicker.

"Don't you dare insult my husband!" Mother snapped. Draco almost smiled; whenever Father said something rude about Aunt Bella, Mother defended her just as vehemently.

"And why not?" Aunt Bella demanded. "What has he done, Cissy, for our Master?"

"Your Master," Mother said quietly.

"Excuse me?!"

"I said He's your Master, Bella, not mine," Mother said loudly. "I never took the Mark."

"But-but you want him back, don't you?" Aunt Bella asked. Suddenly, she looked like the younger sister, even though Draco knew she was a year older than Mother.

"Of course I do," Mother said, getting to her feet suddenly. She began to pace. Draco and Hydrus exchanged a look, having never seen her so agitated. "But think, Bella! The name Malfoy has always garnered respect from the Wizarding community but it's at an all time high. Lucius has power over the fools at the Ministry and is perfectly placed should anyone hear anything about the Dark Lord's location. If he were to be caught serving the Dark Lord - who may or may not even be alive - he would lose everything."

"The Dark Lord rewards those who are dedicated-"

"At the moment, there is no Dark Lord!" Mother cried, stopping in front of Aunt Bella. "And until there is, until we can be certain, I will not throw everything we've worked so hard, and lied so hard to get!" Aunt Bella looked like she'd been slapped. She sat down in the empty seat and Mother sat down in hers. "How is Rodolphus?" Mother asked after a tense pause.

"Still in the cell next to mine," Aunt Bella said dismissively.

"And Rabastan?"

She gave a careless shrug. "Couldn't say."

"And how have you been?" Mother asked. Aunt Bella shrugged again. "Here," Mother said, passing Aunt Bella her wand.

Aunt Bella took it, a peaceful expression settling on her face. She gave it a wave and conjured a set of colourful, glowing lights.

"I've missed my magic," she whispered, reaching out with one claw-like hand to touch one of the lights. She waved Mother's wand again and they vanished. She seemed to struggle for a moment and then reluctantly passed the wand back. "Thank you." Mother inclined her head as she pocketed it. Aunt Bella sighed noisily and said, "And thank you for this too, Cissy."

Mother gazed around the interview room and inclined her head again. "I still hate the thought of you trapped in here, Bella, you know that. Anything I can do to make it easier-"

"It's not supposed to be easy," Aunt Bella replied. "It's a sacrifice, Cissy, and He will know what I have given for Him, that I am His most loyal, most faithful-"

Mother got to her feet and went to hold Aunt Bella's hands. "I know He will," she said softly. "I just hope it's worth the price."

* * *

Harry held out a piece of bacon. The owl - he and Padfoot had named her Hedwig - accepted it with a hoot and let him detach the _Prophet_ from her leg. Harry unrolled the paper and scanned the front page, stroking the owl with his other hand; she was still quite downy but her head was now more white than grey.

His eyes widened and Hedwig hooted indignantly when the petting stopped. "Apparently I'm dead," Harry told the stirring, sleeping-bag-encased lump that was Padfoot.

"Oh?" Padfoot said sleepily, trying to flatten his tousled hair.

"They're holding a memorial service at Diagon Alley for me tomorrow morning."

"What's the date today?"

"Sixteenth," Harry said, checking the paper by-line.

"Exactly two months," Padfoot mused. "Does this mean they've stopped looking?"

"No, Lucius Malfoy's still recruiting on page three. He's paying for any information and offering a thousand galleons to anyone who finds us."

"Bastard. Now we'll have all the lowlifes looking too."

Harry sighed and turned the page. "Oh, wait, I can't be dead; it says here we were at last night's Cannons game."

"Ooh! Who won?"

"Not the Cannons," Harry said, apologetically.

"Damn," Padfoot said, looking unsurprised. He yawned again and stumbled over to join Harry at the table. "What's for breakfast?"

"I made bacon and eggs," Harry said.

"I could go for eggs," Padfoot admitted, glancing at Harry's half-full plate.

Harry shielded his breakfast with an arm and used the other one to point at the stove. "Get your own." Hedwig stole a lump of bacon off his plate, clicked her beak and flew across the room to perch on the mantel.

Padfoot chuckled. "Do you want tea or juice or anything?"

"Juice sounds good," Harry said hopefully. Padfoot flicked his wand and a bottle of juice came soaring out of the pantry to land in front of Harry. Glasses from the cupboard followed half a second later. "Thanks," Harry said, pouring himself a glass. "Do you want one too?"

"Yes, thanks," Padfoot said, his voice muffled; he'd retrieved a fork and was eating straight from the fry-pan.

Harry sipped his juice and flipped the page. "The Minister's retiring early," Harry said. Padfoot came to read over his shoulder.

"End of the month," Padfoot murmured. "Bet the Ministry loves that; they've only got a week and a bit to choose a successor." He made a face. "The _Prophet_ needs to get their priorities straight. The Minister's retiring and yet the front page is dedicated to us. Poor Bagnold's been shunted to page seven and doesn't have as much as a photograph to thank her for nine years of hard work."

"Was she a good Minister?"

"About as good as they come. Cornelius Fudge is going to be a joke."

"Who?"

"That's who the papers say'll be next," Padfoot said, grimacing as he tapped the article. "Him or Dumbledore and Dumbledore won't take the position."

"Do you know Fudge?"

"I did. He was with the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes when James and I were going through the Auror Training Program. Nice enough bloke but he's... I dunno... just... I wouldn't have picked it."

"Who do you reckon it should be, then?" Harry asked, scraping the last few scraps of egg onto his fork.

Padfoot thought for a moment. "All I know of the current Ministry is what's been in the papers these last three weeks," he warned. "But I'd have to say either Kingsley Shacklebolt - he's an Auror and an old Order member - or Amelia Bones... They'd never be picked though."

"Why not?"

"Too young. Kingsley went through a few years before I did. He graduated at the end of my third- wait, no, he was with Gid and Fab... end of my fourth year," he amended. "He spent a few years travelling and then came back. We did the Auror Training Program together. Amelia was the year below us... she went through with Marlene, Frank and Alice."

"More Order members?" Harry guessed. Padfoot nodded. Harry opened his mouth to ask about them but from the grim set of Padfoot's mouth knew it could be nothing good. He sipped at his juice instead.

The two headed upstairs (after Harry coaxed Kreacher into doing the dishes) into what had been the dining room. Padfoot had shrunk the table and chairs and put them in the dresser for safe-keeping, effectively clearing the floor space. He'd also added Cushioning Charms to the walls, windows, floor and ceiling to absorb any stray spells that they might need to cast.

In one corner was a cauldron and a bookcase, loaded with potions ingredients and various books on spells and brewing. Harry hoped it would be wand work today; in the week or so he'd had his wand, Padfoot had been teaching him less history and less potions and had been trying to teach him basic charms and the theories behind them. He thought, a little dejectedly, that he was probably overdue for one of the less interesting lessons.

Padfoot, however, said, "Can you light up your wand for me?"

Harry drew his wand; this was one of the first spells Padfoot had taught him and he was fairly confident about using it. "_Lumos_," he said. A bulb of light flashed out, illuminating the room in blinding white. Harry flinched. "_Nox!_" The light vanished and the lamps on the walls extinguished.

Padfoot re-lit the lamps with a wave of his own wand. "Not bad," he said. "Try for a bit more control though. Less light, and hold it."

Harry nodded. "_Lumos_," he said again.

"Dim it down," Padfoot yelped, covering his eyes.

"Sorry, sorry!" The wand tip dimmed slowly until it was emitting a faint white glow.

"Better," Padfoot said approvingly. "Now, try to put it out without doing the lamps."

Harry grinned sheepishly. "_Nox_," he said. The light disappeared.

"Excellent," Padfoot said. "Could you feel the difference?"

"Er... no," Harry said. "But I could see it."

Padfoot chuckled. "Fair enough. There's another charm - _Reparo-_"

"The fixing one?" Padfoot had done that so many times since they moved in that Harry was fairly sure he could mimic the incantation and wand movement perfectly.

"Have you tried it?" Harry shook his head. "Go on then."

"There's nothing to fix in here."

"Rubbish," Padfoot said, glancing around quickly. "_Diffindo,_" The curtains severed and fell in a dusty heap. "Fix that," Padfoot said while Harry laughed.

"_Reparo,_" Harry said tentatively. There was another puff of dust but nothing more.

"Say it like you mean it," Padfoot told him. "You don't ask magic to do things. You _tell_ it to."

"_Reparo_," Harry said. The curtains fixed themselves back together but there was a large line - like a scar - where the cut had been.

"Not bad," Padfoot said. He severed the curtains again and had Harry practice until he could manage it consistently, though it still left a scar. "We'll go over the theory behind that later," Padfoot told him, unconcerned. He was quiet for a moment, apparently deciding what to teach Harry next and then said, "Have you heard of _Finite Incantatem_?"

"Didn't you cast it on that coat-rack that tried to punch you...?"

Padfoot grimaced. "Basically, it'll undo or end a spell."

"Any spell?"

"No. Some are resistant by nature, some are resistant by design. It doesn't work very well on injuries or on potion induced effects either but it's still damn useful... I think the best way to teach you this one, is to teach you some basic jinxes at the same time."

Harry looked up, excited. "Jinxes?"

"I was thinking you could practice on Kreacher," Padfoot said. Harry laughed, a little tempted – Kreacher had been rather foul lately - but shook his head. "I thought as much," he said wryly. "I'm prepared to sacrifice my own short term well-being in order to give you a living target."

"I don't want to jinx you!" Harry thought that would be a very poor way to repay Padfoot for everything he'd done so far.

"I'm not going to be teaching you anything nasty; these are jinxes and very mild hexes." Padfoot grinned mischievously. "When we move onto real hexes, we'll definitely be using Kreacher."

They were there for the majority of the day. Harry tried a Tickling Hex, a Jelly-Legs Curse, a Finger-Twitch Charm that made it very difficult for an opponent to hold their wand, a charm that made opponents dance and one that locked the opponent's legs together. He had no luck with the Tickling Hex or the Jelly-Legs Curse but he picked up on the various Binding spells and on the Reversal Charm quickly.

"Good," Padfoot wheezed as Harry removed a charm that made opponents cough uncontrollably. "Better than before." Padfoot conjured himself a glass of water and sat down on the floor.

"Is that it?" Harry asked, flopping down next to him. He brushed his sweaty hair out of his face and pushed his glasses up. He hadn't been moving around much at all, but his arm ached from holding his wand up and he had the beginnings of a headache.

"One more," Padfoot said, standing.

Harry groaned and stood up. "Which one?"

"Your choice." Padfoot let his hands fall down by his sides and took a deep breath. "Whenever you're ready," he said wincing slightly.

"_Petrificus Totalus_," Harry said. Padfoot stiffened and swayed. Harry felt a little smug that he'd managed it first time. There was a muffled thump as Padfoot hit the Cushioning Charms on the floor. "_Finite Incantatem_," he said.

Padfoot stretched and pushed himself into a sitting position. "Good," he said. "Stronger that time."

"How can you tell?"

"It's tighter. Weaker body binds are elastic; they give a little if you push and some even break if you can get your magic between you and the spell. That one had less give than the others, less space for me to get my magic in."

"So you could have broken that?"

Padfoot hesitated. "Yes, I could have, and so could any Auror or Hit Wizard." Harry's face fell. "We'll work on it though," Padfoot promised. "Give it a few more weeks and we'll have it strong enough that not even Dumbledore himself could break free of it." Harry gave him a doubtful look.

"Wandless magic'll still break it, but wandless magic'll break almost anything," Padfoot said. "Body-Binds are simple. Simple in principle and simple in execution. They aren't hard to get right."

"Wow, thanks," Harry said with a grimace.

Padfoot smiled and ruffled his hair. "You're already better at jinxes than I was at eight. Andy didn't teach me until I was ten." He smiled a little sadly. "When you get to Hogwarts, you'll be advanced for your age, I have no doubts of that. Until then, though, you're a kid in a world of adults, and no matter how good you get, they've got more experience, more control and more power than you're going to have for the next few years.

"I don't want you hurt because you're overconfident. Better that you're wary and surprise them with a well-placed jinx than you going in, wand blazing, thinking you can beat them all. I've been there, done that and trust me, it'll only work once." Padfoot stood and winced, rubbing his back. "Can you be bothered cleaning tonight?"

"I suppose," Harry said shrugging as he tucked his wand into his pocket. "Which one?"

Since they'd moved in, Harry and Padfoot had fixed and cleaned two bathrooms, the kitchen, the library, one of the bedrooms on the third floor - despite this, both were still sleeping in the kitchen - and the training room. "Reg's room, I think," Padfoot said. "We can get you settled in properly."

Harry beamed, excited at the prospect of having his own room. It wasn't that he particularly minded camping in the kitchen with Padfoot but he'd never had a bedroom before. His excitement petered out a moment later; he'd only been in Regulus's room two or three times but he knew it was very large and very, very dusty and was probably going to take a considerable amount of time to clean.

Padfoot glanced out the window at the sky; it was a pale purple and getting darker by the minute. "Kreacher." CRACK! "We're going to head upstairs in a moment. Could you have dinner ready for us in about an hour-" Padfoot glanced at Harry. "-_please_?"

Kreacher's bloodshot eyes flicked between the two of them and he appeared to choke on an insult - Padfoot had forbidden him from saying anything rude, though he still managed on occasion - and then he vanished with another CRACK!

Padfoot turned to Harry. "I'll race you upstairs," he said, grinning.

"What? Now?" Harry asked as the shaggy, black dog dashed out of the room. "Cheater!" Harry called after him. "Kreacher!" CRACK! "Can you Apparate me upstairs? To Regulus' room." Harry asked. "Please?" Kreacher gave him a peevish look but held out his bony arm without complaint. "Thanks," Harry said, grasping it.

The room distorted. He was being tugged, stretched, condensed and twisted all at once and then Regulus' dark room materialised around them.

"Thanks, Kreacher," Harry gasped. The elf cast a fearful look around the room and vanished without another word.

"I beat you!" he heard Padfoot shouting from out on the landing.

"Beat me?" Harry asked, pulling open the door. Padfoot whipped out his wand, swearing all the while and then slumped when he saw Harry standing there, staring at him in awe. Even Uncle Vernon hadn't had such a comprehensive vocabulary.

Padfoot scowled. "You're not to use any of those words or I'll _Scourgify_ your tongue. And how did you get up here? You were behind me!"

"Kreacher," Harry said, grinning.

"And you call me a cheater," Padfoot grumbled, walking into the room. He waved his wand and the lamps on the walls lit.

Harry stared. The room was bigger in the light, and all the more ominous; the lights were casting distorted shadows on the walls. The dark green curtains were moth-eaten but effectively blocked all but a thin beam that shone onto a painted Black family crest.

Below that was the bed, perfectly made with a dull grey cover and matching pillows. Harry stared around; the slightly open wardrobe revealed meticulously folded clothes and the desk and bookcase were neatly organised.

"Very neat, Reg," Padfoot said, following his gaze.

"You're one to talk," Harry said, his voice almost a whisper.

Padfoot grinned. "I'm neat, but Reg is another thing altogether." He picked a frame off of the bedside table and wiped it with his sleeve. "That's him there," he said, nodding at a thin boy surrounded by his green-clad teammates. Harry thought he could have picked him; Regulus had the same dark hair, grey eyes and proud look as his brother.

Next to that photo was another frame, silver again. It showed Padfoot and Regulus, both in their Hogwarts robes with a man and a woman behind them. The four of them were standing on the staircase, with the elf heads beside them.

After a moment Harry was able to recognise the woman as their mother, though quite a few years younger than she was in the portrait downstairs. She had a proud but not overly pretty face and with them standing next to each other, Harry could see a lot of her looks had gone to her younger son. Padfoot - who looked about sixteen - looked a lot like his father; tall, well-built and handsome.

Orion and Walburga Black took turns smiling proudly at Regulus' green and silver tie, and scowling at Padfoot's red and gold one. Padfoot was scowling too, looking very much like he'd rather be somewhere else, but even as Harry watched, Regulus gave him a little nudge and a small smile.

The photograph-Padfoot smiled back as if he couldn't help himself and flung an arm over his brother's shoulders. Both boys laughed and grinned at the camera while Mr and Mrs Black watched disapprovingly.

"You were close, weren't you?" Harry asked, setting the photo down.

"He wasn't ever as much of a brother to me as Prongs and Moony were, but he was more than Peter was, even before I knew Peter was a spy... so yes. We were very close growing up but then I became a Gryffindor and he was a Slytherin and he started sitting with Bella and Cissy instead of me at family functions."

"But you still got along?"

"Better than you'd think. It wasn't always easy - more often than not I wanted to hex his Slytherin arse - but we managed. I stayed in contact with him after we left school which is saying something, I suppose. Some of the Order didn't like that very much but James talked them around." He sighed and gave the photo a sad smile. "You can do the newspaper clippings, if you'd like. I'll tackle the desk."

Harry sat down on the edge of the bed and was instantly surrounded by a cloud of dust. "Argh!" he choked, his eyes watering.

"Oops," Padfoot said. "_Exsugo_." He held his wand over the bed like Harry had seen Aunt Petunia hold her hoover over the kitchen floor. What was left behind was faded green bedding and pale silver pillows. "Better?"

Harry sneezed again but nodded and Padfoot crossed the room to the desk and began to rifle through. Harry turned his attention to the wall. "They're all about Voldemort."

"Yeah," Padfoot said, scowling as he torched scraps of parchment with his wand. "That's not all of them either - I ripped them all down when I was fourteen and tore them into tiny little pieces."

Harry scanned the walls and shivered. _Man Disappears, Family Found Dead, Mysterious Wizard Gathering Followers_ were common titles. Others were more specific.

"Anything interesting?" Padfoot was leafing through a huge book titled _Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy. _

Harry squinted at the faded clippings. "This one's about the deaths of a Mr and Mrs Smith. One about Helen Meadowes and Alexander McKinnon and two about Dorcas Meadowes - one about a messed up assassination and one about her death-" Harry checked the dates, "-about a month later."

"Dorcas," Padfoot said softly.

"You knew her?"

"Of course. She was in the original Order with me and your mum and dad. Voldemort tried to kill her but someone tipped Dumbledore off and he moved her in time. She died a month later. Voldemort killed her personally."

"I'm sorry," Harry said. Padfoot shrugged. "Her sister disappeared at the same time. Helen, is that right?"

"It must be. She wasn't a part of the Order so I never met her. She died too?"

"Vanished, it says here."

"Just like Dearborn," Padfoot murmured.

"They found her partner's body. It says here his name was Alexander McKinnon."

Padfoot sighed heavily. "I remember Alex. I remember all of the McKinnons."

"All of them?"

"Alex had a brother – Simon – and a- a sister. Marlene. Curtis and Patricia were their parents. Curtis was killed, then Alex and then the rest of them died just after your first birthday..." He shook himself. "What else is there?" Harry read the next article and froze. "Harry?"

"Mum and Dad," Harry whispered.


	9. The Floo Fiasco

"What?" Padfoot said, dropping Nature's Nobility which landed with a thud. "That's not possible! Reg died first!"

"Not that. Something about an attack on their home," Harry said.

"On Potter Manor?"

Harry nodded. "A few days after Curtis McKinnon's body was found, according to this."

"That's right," Padfoot whispered. "Merlin, we were so lucky."

"What happened?"

"Reg came over. We fought about something, I don't remember what - it probably wasn't important." Padfoot smiled guiltily. "I was in such a foul mood I spent the rest of the day throwing furniture around my flat. Prongs and Moony were worried because I hadn't been answering their firecalls.

"I shouted at both of them when they showed up, so Moony set about making tea and James left and came back a moment later with you - you were only a few weeks old - and Lily." He smiled. "You could always cheer me up... all of us, actually. You and the Longbottom boy were always brought to Order meetings, partially because no one trusted babysitters and partially because you were both so happy all the time... you reminded us what we were fighting for.

"Anyway, your mum and dad were just about to leave – Peter was supposed to be visiting - when Dumbledore showed up on the verge of tears and said there'd been an attack on the Manor and they were missing. Lily comforted him - poor bloke just about died when he saw them sitting in my living room - and James alternated between making jokes about the whole thing and discussing which hexes to use on the bastards when he next saw them."

"So what happened?"

"You stayed at my flat with Remus while James, Lils, Dumbledore and I went back to the Manor and packed up your things. Dumbledore moved you into one of the spare teacher's rooms at Hogwarts and you lived there until you moved to Godric's Hollow."

Harry nodded. _And we lived there until Halloween_, he finished in his head. "It's strange."

"What is?"

"To hear about all of this. Even though I was _there_, I was too little to remember anything-"

Padfoot picked up the copy of _Nature's Nobility_ and waved it at him. "Of course you were; you were only this big." Harry stared at the scrap of paper which had just fallen out of the book. "Are there any other articles?"

"Not about them," Harry answered. "What does that paper say?"

Padfoot frowned and retrieved it. "Another newspaper clipping. '_Double Arrest: Father and Son attack Ministry Official',"_ he read, his face scrunching up and then frowned and lobbed the book into the rubbish bag, but he kept the clipping and stared at it for a few more moments. "My mother probably used it as a bookmark."

Padfoot offered it to him. Staring back at him was a rather scary looking man with a thin face, thick, matted hair and dark eyes that looked in opposite directions. He bared his teeth - or the ones that were left - at Harry and lunged for whoever was holding the camera. Two wizards stepped forward to restrain him. In the background, clinging to a dilapidated house, shouting and making rude hand gestures, was an older man who looked a bit like a monkey. Harry had to hide a smile when he saw Regulus had circled the hand gesture.

Padfoot had retrieved _Nature's Nobility_ and was flicking through it carelessly. He read a page in silence and then snorted. He flicked to a page closer to the end of the book and passed it to Harry. "Here. You might find that interesting."

_The Potter Line_, proclaimed golden letters at the top of the page. Harry sank onto the bed, entranced and traced the red, silver and black coat of arms with shaking fingers. Around the edges of that were golden words that formed a triangle.

"Padfoot?"

Padfoot was frowning at the clipping about the arrest. "Hmm?"

"What does 'Aut viam inveniam aut faciam' mean?"

"It's about the only Latin I know," Padfoot said with a wry smile. "'I'll either find a way or make one' is the rough translation. It suited James perfectly, I assure you." Harry smiled and re-read the words several times to commit them to memory and had a quick read of the Potter family's history.

"Are we keeping it?" he asked when he was bored.

"The book? Nah, we've got about five in the house." Harry lobbed it into the rubbish bag and went to join Padfoot by the desk. "Could you sort through these?" Padfoot asked.

"What do I do with them?"

"If they sound interesting, keep them. If not..." Padfoot jerked his thumb in the direction of the rubbish bag. Padfoot, still holding that paper clipping, wandered over to sit on the bed and look at the articles there.

Harry sat down amidst a pile of books. _Past Ministers: the Infamous and the Inspiring_ went into the rubbish bag, but the rest of the books were fairly interesting. _Moste Potente Potions _looked complicated and rather dark - the pictures in particular made Harry cringe - but there were some useful sounding potions in it.

Regulus, for whatever reason, had marked the page of one called 'Dementor's Draught' which forced the drinker to relive their worst memories and also acted as a slow poison - the drinker would live for up to a year with general lethargy, recurring nausea and frequent mood changes unless treated. Some even died from it. The book offered no remedies, however. Harry wrinkled his nose and set that one aside; they'd keep it, he decided, but he'd be happy if he never needed to read it again.

There was also _An Advanced Guide to Protective Wards_ which had no specific pages marked but had obviously been read a number of times; the spine was creased and the edges of the pages were soft and rounded with wear. There was a box-set of _Applications of Defensive Magic_, but only the volume on dark creatures had been read; the others were all in pristine condition.

"Harry?" Harry glanced up. "Is there a book there on wizarding artefacts over there with you?" Harry shifted_Traces and Auras: See The Magic Around You_ and grabbed a book thinner than the others in the pile, titled_History's Most Magical Wizarding Artefacts._

"This one?"

"Yeah, I thought I saw that. Flick through. See if you can find me an ugly ring with a black stone."

Harry opened the book and scanned the contents. "Er... there's Morgana's ring. It has healing properties, or something."

"Nah, that's not it."

"That's the only ring," Harry said. "As far as stones go... there's the Philosopher's Stone and the Resurrection Stone."

Padfoot shook his head. "The article says Marvolo Gaunt thought his name and his ring would protect him. Are you sure there's no Peverell ring in there?"

"Pretty sure," Harry said apologetically. "You can check-"

Padfoot shook his head again. "How about Slytherin's ring?"

"Slytherin only had a locket," Harry said, opening to the locket's page.

Padfoot made a face and held up the clipping of the old Gaunt making hand gestures. "I thought Reg had circled the ring," he said. Only then did Harry notice the man was in fact wearing a ring, just as Padfoot had described; ugly with a black stone. "It seemed like something he would do. More so than him circling the hand gesture anyway. Maybe we were more similar than I ever thought-"

CRACK!

"Dinner!" Padfoot and Harry exclaimed happily as Kreacher appeared, holding two bowls of soup.

"French onion?" Harry asked hopefully, setting the book aside.

Kreacher bobbed his head. "Kreacher knows the brat is partial to it."

"Thanks," Harry said, accepting a bowl and a spoon from the elf.

"I've told you not to call him brat," Padfoot growled. Kreacher froze. "Call him Harry or Master."

"I don't mind," Harry said, trying to avert another round of pointless bickering. Padfoot rolled his eyes. Harry glanced at Kreacher, but the elf didn't look back; he was staring at the book next to Harry, the one with the picture of the locket, and wearing a horrified expression. "Kreacher?"

Kreacher made on odd shrieking sound, shoved the second bowl at Padfoot and Disapparated. Padfoot waved his wand at the spilt soup. "Mad elf," he grumbled. Harry was inclined to agree.

Kreacher was elusive after that. Weeks passed and April became May and even then he rarely spoke, even to insult them, and he spent the majority of his time skulking around in the drawing room on the first floor, polishing the cabinets and mumbling to himself.

"He's cracked," Padfoot was prone to saying, every time either of them poked their head in to check on him.

Kreacher would mutter, "The family mustn't know, oh no," and became increasingly hysteric if either of them asked too many questions.

Padfoot's room– which hadn't been cleaned for almost thirteen years – was taking much longer; they'd uncovered a nest of doxies there – Harry had been bitten and spent two days in bed while Padfoot fussed over him – and a set of robes in the wardrobe – which had been a prank present from James - were supposed to hug the wearer but had tried to strangle Padfoot instead. He'd set them on fire in retribution.

Aside from that, however, things were going well. They'd finished cleaning Regulus' room and replaced the old curtains, quilts and pillows with new ones - red mostly - and Padfoot had repainted the walls - the same white as they had been - so no traces of the Black family crest remained. Padfoot had even duplicated a Gryffindor banner from his old room - which they were in the process of cleaning - and hung it above Harry's desk with the promise they'd change it if he wasn't made a Gryffindor.

Harry's lessons were also going well. Padfoot had covered some history, going over Dumbledore's fight with Grindelwald and also the war against Voldemort. Harry had also had some success with potions; he'd made a cure for boils properly after three attempts, he'd made a potion that induced babbling for an hour, a basic sleeping drought and a simple colour-change potion that acted similarly to muggle hair-dye; Padfoot had sported bright blue hair for days after Harry slipped it into his afternoon cup of tea.

Harry, who knew his godfather had a good sense of humour and had done much worse during his school days, had expected a laugh and a half-hearted reprimand. Instead, Padfoot had beamed and taken him out for ice cream as soon as the potion wore off.

Harry had also been getting better with the jinxes and minor hexes Padfoot had taught him. His Body-Bind was quite strong and he had managed to perform a half-decent Tickling Hex; Padfoot had immediately tried to teach him the more complex Tickling Charm, which Harry was absolutely hopeless at.

Padfoot had also taught him a very simple Soap Spell - a more manageable spell than the _Scourgify_ Padfoot was always threatening to use if Harry swore - that was useful for cleaning - since Kreacher wasn't cleaning at all - and a Polishing Charm so that he could help around the house. The house itself was coming along, though slowly.

"So how do I do it again?" Harry asked.

"Hold on." Padfoot kicked his sleeping bag, though he hadn't been using it - since they'd cleaned Regulus' room up, Padfoot had been sleeping as a dog at the end of Harry's bed - away from the hearth. "All right, so, you take a handful of Floo Powder, throw it in the fire and then say where it is you want to go. Keep your eyes closed and try not to fidget too much."

"Okay," Harry said. He was a little nervous about travelling through fire, but he was also eager to try it.

"It's easy," Padfoot said. "I learned when I was about four. Just be very clear about what you're saying. I'll see you in the library."

Harry nodded again. Padfoot grinned and held the little pot out to him. Harry took a handful and tossed it in the fire. The flames flared green. Padfoot nodded. Harry stepped into the grate and immediately breathed in a mouthful of hot ash. "Lib-ra-ar-ry," he coughed. Padfoot made a grab for him but Harry was already being pulled.

He was spinning and the fire was roaring around him, blinding green and hot, but it wasn't burning him. He squirmed and knocked his knee against something hard, and then his elbow. _How long is this going to take_? Harry wondered. Surely getting upstairs should only take a few seconds.

Suddenly the green was gone and he was falling; he threw his arms out in front of him to stop his fall and felt his left wrist crack. His glasses flew off his nose. Tears sprung into his eyes, blurring his vision more than usual and he sat up, cradling his hand. He was still very dizzy and his knee and elbow hurt but they were nothing compared to his throbbing wrist. His ears were still ringing.

"Hey, kid! Are you all right?!"

"I hate the Floo network," Harry muttered, wiping his eyes. Then he froze. That wasn't Padfoot's voice. And the library was carpeted, not hard wood. He wiped the last of the tears away and looked around. He was in a dark, smoky room filled with people. The roaring sound was still there, but now Harry realised that was people talking. Some part of him recognised the Leaky Cauldron. "This- this isn't the library," he heard himself say. And then what had happened sunk in. He hurriedly smoothed his fringe down to hide his scar and, upon finding them, stuffed his glasses into his pocket.

"Do you think he's concussed?" Two pairs of hands pulled him to his feet.

"How am I supposed to know?" a girl asked. "Ron, go get Mum."

"You get Mum!" another boy's voice answered.

"Don't worry about it," Harry said quickly, unable to see them without his glasses on, but unless he was going mad, he thought he could see a lot of red. "I'm fine."

"Then why are you holding your wrist?" the girl challenged.

"I'm fine," Harry said again. "I'm going to be late."

"Where are you going?" one of the boys asked.

"To meet my...er... dad."

"Where is he?"

"Florish and Blotts," Harry said. "He's... er... picking up my... er... school books. Mum sent me to help him."

"Are you going to Hogwarts?" the girl asked wistfully.

"Er... yeah, start this year," Harry said.

"Us too!" two of the boys said in unison. Harry winced. "What House?"

"Dunno," Harry said. "I really have to go though. Thanks again."

"Bye," the girl and one of her brothers said.

"See you at school," the other two said.

Harry, still cradling his wrist, managed to find his way to the door and out into the little courtyard that led to Diagon Alley. As soon as he established there was no one there he jammed his glasses back on, pulled his wand out, checked his pockets for money - he had a sickle and a few knuts - and evaluated his options.

He didn't know how to open Diagon Alley - both times they'd come, Padfoot had done it - or he probably would have gone to ask Mr Ollivander for help, but asking someone else to open it would draw attention to him. He could Floo back but he wasn't feeling overly confident with that, and, as Secret Keeper, it probably wouldn't do for him to be shouting their home address to the crowded bar. That left muggle London. He would have to walk; a sickle wasn't going to get him very far at all amongst muggles.

Harry reluctantly put his wand away, pulled the hood of his jacket up so it covered his face and ducked back into the bar. Three red-haired children were telling their plump mother about a strange boy and the Floo. The girl looked up as he walked in but he carefully avoided eye contact and she looked away again. Unfortunately, in his attempts to appear inconspicuous, Harry collided with another redhead who was coming out of the bathroom.

"Oh, it's you," the boy said. He was short and chubby - maybe a few inches smaller than Harry - with a long, freckly nose, blue eyes and bright red hair. He looked to be about Harry's age. "Weren't you meeting your dad? And where'd you get glasses?"

"Er..." Harry cast a fearful glance over his shoulder.

The boy's eyes widened. "I know who you are!"

"Shh!" Harry hissed. He stuffed his wand in his pocket and dragged the boy into a corner.

"I thought you were dead!" the boy exclaimed.

"Shh!" Harry said again.

"Sorry," the boy whispered. He looked at Harry. "This is so weird!"

"I was never here," Harry said, desperate. "Please!"

"All right," the boy said. "Don't get your wand in a twist."

"Thanks," Harry said, relieved.

"No problem." The boy hesitated and then held out his hand. "I'm Ron. Ron Weasley."

"Harry Potter," Harry said softly and let go of his wrist to shake it.

"Are you hurt?" Ron asked, glancing at his wrist.

"I'm fine," Harry said.

"I could ask- Mum's just over there if you want-"

"It's fine," Harry said again. "Really."

Ron glanced at his wrist again but didn't say anything more on the topic. "Why are you here?" he asked instead. "Did you escape?"

"No," Harry said a little coolly. "I got lost in the Floo."

"My brother George did that once," Ron said with an easy grin. "Fred was doing his nut. I thought he might marry the little old witch that brought him back, he was so happy."

"Who're-?" Harry asked, momentarily distracted from his own troubles.

"My brothers. They're over there." Harry had a surreptitious look over his shoulder at the twin boys sitting at the table with their mother and sister. The sister kept glancing in their direction, nervously, but every time Harry met her eyes, she turned around again. He was just grateful she had the sense to stay quiet. Ron frowned suddenly. "Are you really going to Hogwarts this year?" he asked. "Or did you just say it so we'd leave you alone?"

"I-" But Harry never got to answer. A woman at the bar turned around curiously and spied the pair of them. She looked at him for a moment and then her eyes widened and she let out a shriek and slopped her drink all over herself.

"It's Harry Potter!" she screamed.

Harry threw Ron an apologetic look and bolted. He made it out onto the street but what seemed like half the pub had followed. "Wait, Potter!" one witch was shouting.

"He's mine!" screamed a wizard.

Harry had never been so scared in his life. He ran past a muggle couple and was almost hit by a woman on a bicycle as he bolted across Charing Cross Road. He couldn't even get to his wand because he was supporting his wrist.

"Potter!"

"Did someone- Harry?" a man in torn jeans asked as he ran past. Harry ignored him, but he heard the man start to run too.

He ducked down a side street between a shabby inn and a Chinese restaurant and then around another one, which took him to a high walled courtyard behind a bar. He glanced down two alleys trying to guess which one would get him out of there and in the end headed left; his followers had their wands out and were trying to stop him.

Harry felt fear twist his insides as he turned another corner, but there was something else there too, besides fear. Something warm, something alien yet familiar all at the same time. _Magic_, Harry realised. _But how am I supposed to use it_? Accidental magic had always been just that; accidental.

"Potter, come here!" bellowed a woman.

Harry gathered the magic he could feel building and prepared to use it. "_Stupefy!_" one wizard shouted.

He was forced to turn another corner and ran straight into a rubbish bin. It fell over with a loud bang and Harry landed on his wrist again with a shout of pain. His magic vanished. He heard footsteps and fumbled for his wand but couldn't get it before a pair of torn jeans walked into his line of sight and a sandy-haired man knelt down beside him. "Are you hurt?"

"No," Harry lied. His good hand wrapped around his wand. The man made a noise that might have been amusement and tapped Harry's left arm with his own wand. Bandages wound around his wrist and tied themselves neatly. "Thanks," he muttered.

"He's got him!"

Harry let go of his wand and let the man help him to his feet. As soon as he was standing, the man stepped between him and the crowd. Harry reached for his wand again.

"Who threw that Stunner?!" the man who'd helped him demanded.

"That's Harry Potter!"

"I know bloody well who it is!" the man shouted back at them, sounding annoyed. "And he's been the victim of this whole Sirius Black mess, not the perpetrator, so I'll thank you not to throw spells at an eight year-old!" Harry didn't wait to hear the rest. The man seemed sufficiently distracted, and so did the others so he slipped down another side street and took off running again. His wrist didn't hurt nearly as much as it had but he was still worried about getting home.

He followed the alley to a busy street that Harry thought was Shaftesbury Avenue. He pulled his hood up again and slipped into the crowd. Aunt Petunia had always told him to stay where he was if he got lost but he was fairly sure that advice was only useful if the person looking for him had a vague idea of where he was. Besides, if Padfoot couldn't find him, neither could the other witches or wizards.

He walked a short distance from a young, dark-haired woman - close enough that anyone else would mistake them for family, but far enough away that it wouldn't unnerve her - the way he'd used to do when he was younger; he'd liked to pretend he wasn't related to the Dursleys, if only for a few minutes.

He wasn't quite sure where he was going and he wasn't thick enough to start asking for directions to Grimmauld Place, so he just walked, trying to put as much distance between him and the Leaky Cauldron as possible.

* * *

_He's alive, he's alive, he's alive, he's alive_, Remus sang to himself, even as he shouted at the people who'd attacked Harry. He knew that Harry was alive of course, because the Department of Magical Records had not reported his death, but that had done little to allay Remus' fears. _He's alive, he's al-_

"He's gone!" one witch screeched. "You let him get away!"

Remus turned and swore. "Harry!" he called, ducking down a sidestreet. Harry was nowhere in sight. Remus ran a hand through his hair, agitated and sniffed the air. There was a faint smell of fear, determination and something that was almost James, almost Lily and almost Sirius but was none of them, lingering down a street to his right. He followed without hesitation and came out on a busy muggle road.

The scent was harder to track here, with more people, but Remus reasoned he couldn't have gone far yet and had to be around somewhere... _Children... _Remus thought, glancing around.

There was a blond boy standing with an old man that appeared to be his grandfather, a dark haired boy trailing a little girl with pigtails - for a moment Remus thought it might be him but the boy's hair was too flat - another boy was waiting by a bus-stop, but he was too chubby... Remus thought with a pang, of Peter. Another boy bumped into him and stopped to say something - an apology, he thought - before hurrying after a woman who Remus presumed was his mot- _Hold on._

The boy had his hood up - which drew attention to start with - and was holding his wrist at an odd angle, as if it was sore. Remus was fairly sure the clothes were the ones Harry had been wearing, and the woman he was walking near was not walking as if she had a child.

She wasn't glancing in his direction every few moments, or holding his hand, or even making any indication that he was there at all. She didn't look angry, either, as if they'd had a fight and so was ignoring him. The boy took a wary glance around and Remus saw glasses flashing beneath the hood.

_Found him_. Remus hurried after, unwilling to scare Harry into running, but he wasn't prepared to lose him either, and Sirius could show up at any moment. Until Sirius did show up, though, Harry wasn't in any immediate danger and he was likely to lead Remus all the way to where they'd been living.

* * *

Harry's 'mother' vanished into a bakery so Harry picked another parent figure - a short, balding man, this time - and followed him instead. This man walked almost all the way down the street and then wandered into a telephone box. Harry pressed on. He wasn't sure how long he'd been walking but he found himself on Charing Cross Road again, and he was fairly sure he knew his way from there to Kings Cross Station.

He joined the end of a line of school kids who'd just got off a bus. The teacher was talking to one interested boy at the front but everyone else was talking amongst themselves and no one seemed to notice Harry. He threw his hood off - their jumpers were a bright blue and his jacket was green but it was close enough.

He followed them until they stopped at Bedford Square and then continued past. "Hey, kid!" he heard. Harry ignored it and kept walking. "Potter!" His head twitched in the direction of the voice before he winced, realising he should have just ignored it. A large man appeared next to him and grabbed his upper arm with a hairy hand. Harry tried to prise the fingers off. "None of that, now," he said. "You're gonna buy me a new house."

"I've only got a sickle," Harry protested, struggling.

The man snorted. "Malfoy's got a bit more'n a sickle for anyone that brings 'im you."

"Let me go," Harry said.

"Nuh uh."

"Let go!" he yelled.

"Is everything all right?" a woman with a large handbag asked, giving them a strange look.

"I warned you we'd go home if you weas naughty so don't pretend to be surprised." Harry tried to twist free but couldn't. "If y'don't stop fighting, I'll tell your mother!" the man shouted. "And she's already gonna be plenty mad at you for gettin' hurt!" Harry blinked. The woman seemed appeased and walked away. "Now, stop making such a scene," the man said in a low voice. He pulled Harry down a dim sidestreet and started to reach for his wand. Harry twisted free, and this time it worked. He didn't stop to ponder his good luck though, and took off at a run. "You little berk!" the man bellowed. "_Pedis Offensio!_" Harry stumbled and fell. His wrist twinged.

He was hauled roughly to his feet by his bad arm. His other arm, however, was free. He grabbed his wand out of his back pocket and cast the first spell that came to mind, not caring that is was a cleaning spell. "_Saponum!"_ Large, glossy bubbles formed in the man's mouth and stung his eyes. He cursed, using a word Harry'd never even heard Padfoot use and Harry managed to get free again. He ran down another narrow alleyway, around a corner, and skidded to a stop in front of a dead end wall.

* * *

Harry was reasonably good at not drawing attention to himself. Remus had almost lost him a while back, at least until he spotted the green jacket in the midst of all the blue ones. The school Harry had been walking with vanished into a large park and then a man appeared and grabbed Harry's arm.

Remus tore his wand out of his pocket - Harry was struggling and looked frightened which was a good enough incentive for him to blast this very large, very hairy man back to wherever he'd come from- and then a woman was in the way. Remus lowered his wand. She exchanged words with the pair and moved away, giving him an odd look as she passed.

The man dragged Harry into an alleyway. Remus' heart was in his throat. He broke into a run but something - approaching from the other direction - beat him there.

It was a dog. An enormous bear-like dog with shaggy black fur. He froze, but it didn't seem to have noticed him. Remus forced himself to move faster. He ran around the corner, almost losing his footing - in... bubbles? - and continued down and around another corner-

There was a loud BANG, like a car backfiring and the alley exploded; Remus was thrown off his feet, his wand landing several yards away. The man holding Harry was thrown into a wall. The walls themselves were trembling and dust and chunks of grey brick rained down. Harry himself was unharmed, but he was looking around warily, wand out.

And then Remus saw _him_ striding calmly toward James and Lily's son. Sirius. The man who had ruined everything. The man who had destroyed his entire world in a matter of hours. The man who had destroyed it_again_ only a few weeks ago. He was thinner than Remus remembered, but not as thin as he'd expected, or as dirty. He was cleanly shaven, his hair was washed and he was dressed not dissimilarly to Remus in jeans and a shirt. His expression, however, was murderous. Remus reached for his wand.

"Oh, thank Merlin," he heard Sirius say as he reached Harry. Harry was pulled into a tight hug - one that he appeared to be returning - and then Sirius let him go.

"How-?" Harry asked, weakly.

Sirius said something in a low voice and the only word Remus caught was 'creature'. Sirius knelt to check on the man he'd attacked. Remus almost had his wand - his fingers were brushing the smooth wood of its handle - and neither Sirius or Harry knew he was there. Sirius checked the hairy man's pulse, Summoned an old pizza box from a rubbish bin by the wall, tapped it once and after a flare of blue light, the man vanished. _A- a Portkey?_ Remus wondered and then shook his head.

Sirius turned back to Harry and frowned. "What happened to your wrist?" Remus heard Harry say something about the Floo and held his arm out for Sirius to look at. Remus lifted his wand, and then Sirius said, "Moony."

His head snapped up just as Remus Disarmed him. Harry jumped and gave Remus a betrayed look. "Moony," Sirius said again, urgently, moving in front of Harry as if _Remus_ was the threat. "Moony, please." The name sent daggers through him, a thousand times more painful than any full moon. "You don't understand," Sirius said.

Remus opened his mouth to say the spell that would kill Sirius but what came out was, "How did you know it was me?"

"You always do a funny little bow on your bandages," Sirius said, never breaking eye contact. "Moony-"

"Don't call me that!" Still, Remus made no move to actually attack. His hand seemed frozen, his wand trained on Sirius's heart.

"Remus, then. Please. I know what you think and you're wrong. It wasn't me. It never was. It was Peter-"

"Don't talk about him!" Remus shouted. "You're a traitor-"

"Peter was the traitor!" Harry yelled. "He killed my parents!"

"Sirius killed your parents, Harry, not Peter. Peter's dead. Sirius killed him and he's going to try to kill yo-"

Harry stepped out from behind Sirius and put himself between the two adults. "I've been living with Padfoot for months," he said, holding Remus' eyes with his own eyes, eyes that were so much like Lily's, "and I'm fine. He isn't trying to hurt me, he's-"

"Get out of the way, please, Harry," he said, trying to get a clear shot at Sirius.

"No," Harry said.

"Harry, move."

"No," Harry said again.

That's what did it; Harry, Harry who looked so much like James standing in front of Sirius, to _protect_ him, as if Sirius wasn't responsible for everything that had gone wrong in both Harry and Remus' lives, as if he wasn't responsible for the deaths of Lily, James and Peter. "_Dormio,_" he murmured, and flicked his wand in Harry's direction. It was regrettable, but he couldn't risk Harry getting in the way of something more sinister.

He saw that Sirius recognised the Sleeping Spell – of course he would recognise it; he and James had used it to get Remus to sleep after full moons - and didn't act to move Harry out of the way. It was for the best, and he seemed to realise that. _I think he cares for him on some level at least_, Remus thought, and wasn't quite sure how to feel about that.

Harry's eyes widened - he looked utterly terrified, in fact - but he didn't move. He winced as the spell was about to hit him- but the pale blue light fizzled out inches from his chest. Remus' eyes widened. _What's Sirius been teaching him?! _Sirius, however, looked just as shocked. _Accidental magic, perhaps_, Remus thought, glancing at Harry who now looked determined. _But why's he protectin- _Sirius made a dive for his wand.

Remus shot a Stunner at him but it missed, deflected by some unseen force. _Harry_, Remus thought tiredly. Sirius's hand closed around his wand. Remus shot another spell at him, a Disarmer this time, but Sirius rolled out of the way. Remus slashed at the air, sending spell after spell at his old friend but none made contact.

"Moony, _please_ just listen," Sirius panted.

"Don't call me that!" Remus said, throwing another hex. Sirius sought cover behind an overturned rubbish bin. "Coward," Remus spat. He was forced to block a spell from Harry - a Body Bind - and then a more pressing Disarmer from Sirius. He sent Sirius into hiding behind another rubbish bin with Binding spell, sent sparks in Harry direction as a distraction, and then stepped around effectively backing Sirius into a corner. _Finally._

"Moony," Sirius said, eyes wide as Remus sent his wand flying. "Please."

"_Petrificus Totalus!"_ he heard from behind him. He blocked the spell easily but the distraction was enough. A blur of black fur streaked between his legs, knocking him over. Harry had retrieved Sirius' wand and held it out to him. Sirius transformed, his fingers closing around his wand and Harry threw his arms around his waist. CRACK!

Remus sent a Stunner at the place where they vanished but he was too late. The red sparks exploded on the alley wall. Remus spun, growling in frustration and came face to face with two men. Aurors, if the round, golden badges they wore chained to their robes were any indication.

"Where's Harry Potter?" one of them demanded. "The Trace said he was here."

"You've just missed him," Remus told them curtly. "Sirius Black took him. Again."

The pair exchanged glances. "We're going to have to ask you to come with us," said the one with yellow eyes.

"What for?" Remus asked, tucking his wand into his pocket.

"We've spent the last hour following his Trace all over this side of London and yet somehow, you're here, before us..." The one with blue eyes prodded Remus in the chest with his wand. "How's that possible? Are you working with Black?"

"Excuse me?" Remus asked, his eyes narrowing dangerously.

"What my colleague is try-" the yellow-eyed man began but he never finished; Remus crossed the distance between them and punched him square in the face.


	10. Of Mice And Men

"Oi, Draco! Look!" Hydrus shouted as his broomstick went whooshing past.

"Yes, you're very fast," Draco said, rolling his eyes as he returned to his book.

"Faster than you!"

"Are not!" Draco said, indignant.

Hydrus swooped one of the peacocks which squawked and ran away, feathers ruffled. "Stupid bird."

"Mother told you not to do that," Draco said, shifting against his tree.

"I'll race you," Hydrus said, ignoring that last comment.

"My Comet's upstairs."

"Then go get it, prat." Hydrus was hovering now, though he was still a fair way above Draco, with one hand resting on a tree branch.

"Father said not to use that word." Hydrus ignored that too and waited for a proper response. "I'm reading," Draco told him as he turned a page. "Do shut up and leave me alone."

"I want to race," Hydrus said, frowning.

"I told you; I'm reading," Draco repeated.

"You're just scared you're going to lose," Hydrus said.

"I am not! I just don't feel like it right now!"

"Baaawwwk!" Hydrus said. "Bawk, bawk, baaawwwk! Chicken!"

"You're the one flapping your arms," Draco pointed out.

Hydrus stopped at once. "Come and race me," he whined.

"No," Draco said, adopting an equally whiny tone.

"I'll tell Father!"

"You wouldn't disturb him." Draco turned another page.

Hydrus landed lightly beside him. "I'll do it," he said.

"Fine." He was bluffing and they both knew it. Father had sent them outside because he was busy and they had specific instructions not to bother him.

"Come race," Hydrus said, stomping his foot.

"No." Draco had to duck as his brother kicked a chunk of grass at him. Leaves followed that, and then Hydrus' left trainer. "I said no!" Draco shouted, on his feet now. He dodged the right trainer, threw it back and then Hydrus threw his broomstick. Draco bolted then, before he could find anything heavier, and sought shelter in the branches of a tree in the courtyard. Hydrus appeared a moment later having reclaimed his broomstick, though not his shoes; his socks were covered in mud.

_I hope he forgets and trails mud all through the Manor_, Draco thought darkly, staring down at his brother. Hydrus poked his head through the double doors that led back inside and then shrugged, climbed back on his broomstick and zoomed out of the courtyard and back to the main part of the grounds. _Thank Merlin_, Draco thought, though he made no move to climb down. _Maybe I'll just stay here... _He opened his book and skimmed through, trying to find his page again - he'd had to close it fairly quickly. He'd just settled against the trunk when a loud, brassy clang echoed out through the courtyard door. _Brilliant_, Draco thought darkly.

The upstairs hall window, which was only a foot or so above him flew open and hit the outside wall with a bang that almost made Draco fall out of the tree. "Boys!" Mother called. Draco sat very, very still. "Draco? I saw you come in. Where are you?"

Draco swallowed. "Here," he called.

Mother looked down at him, surprised. "What are you doing in a tree?"

"Reading," Draco said weakly, holding up his book.

Mother watched him for a moment and then smiled slightly. "Dobby's busy with me up here," she said. "Would you answer the door, please?"

"Yes, Mother," Draco said obediently, trying not to look annoyed. _Stupid Dobby. He should be able to leave Mother for a few minutes and do what he's supposed to._ He scrambled down, wandered inside through the double doors and then through more double doors into the foyer.

"Why couldn't they Floo, whoever it is?" Draco grumbled. He knew the answer though. One did not Floo in to or out of the Manor without Father's leave; the fireplace was charmed to reject anyone who didn't have the right password. Said password changed with Father's whims, and bothered Mother incredibly; Draco had personally seen three occasions in the past year where she'd said an outdated password and been spat out by the fireplace. Father had slept in the guest rooms those nights.

The bell clanged again as he passed a portrait of his great grandfather Casius Malfoy. Draco wrenched the door open. "Yes?" he said. Severus Snape was standing on the doorstep, ready to tug the bell cord again. Draco's eyes widened at the sight of his godfather. "Sorry! I didn't realise it was you, sir, or I wouldn't- Sorry!"

"One apology was sufficient," Severus said, sweeping past him into the foyer.

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir," Draco babbled, closing the door.

"What are you reading?" Severus asked, waving a hand at Draco's book.

"_Magical Theory_," Draco said holding it up.

"Waffling's book?"

"Yes, sir."

"A good book," Severus said, nodding his approval. "Informative, but not overwhelmingly so if memory serves."

"Yes, sir."

"Is Lucius home?"

"Yes, sir."

Severus gave him a look that might have been one of amusement. "Your vocabulary seems rather limited today, Draco."

"Yes-er-I-" Draco felt his cheeks heat. "Sorry."

"No matter," Severus said, smiling ever so slightly. "Would you take me to see your father, please?"

"Yes, sir." Severus was definitely smiling now. "I think he was in his study." Draco led him up the hall, through the double doors on the right and up another hall. "Father?" Draco called, knocking on the elegant wooden door.

"I thought I told you not to bother me, Draco," Father called back sharply.

Draco looked to Severus for help. "Might I have a word, Lucius?" Severus said.

The door opened. "Leave us, Draco," Father said. Severus nodded a goodbye and followed Father into the office.

_I'm the one that let Severus in, _Draco thought, scowling. _I should be allowed to hear._ Smiling, Draco stomped down the hall and then tiptoed back and pressed his ear to the door.

"...arrested." Severus was saying.

"And I suppose it expects me to pay its bail," Father said sounding amused. "Brandy?"

"No, thank you."

There was a clink as Father poured himself a glass and then he said, "I won't pay a knut. The Lupin monstrosity can rot for all I care."

"He was released this morning," Severus said bitterly. "All the charges were dropped."

"Two weeks in office and Cornelius Fudge has already blundered."

"I have no love for Fudge but I wouldn't call Lupin's release a blunder, given the circumstances."

"Circumstances?" Father asked. His tone made Draco shiver.

"It was Rufus Scrimgeour he punched. I daresay most people have had the desire to rearrange his face - the man is utterly incorrigible - but Lupin had also managed to gain custody of the Potter boy, according to witnesses."

"Had?"

"No doubt you've seen this morning's paper."

"I'm aware the boy was spotted in the Leaky Cauldron. He ran out-"

"-and was found by Lupin if Dumbledore is to be believed," Severus said.

"Indeed?" Lucius said so softly Draco hardly heard.

"The Ministry's trying to keep it quiet."

"Which means it'll be in the _Prophet _first thing tomorrow morning," Father said, his voice dripping contempt. He sighed. "I assume Lupin lost the boy."

"He escaped and was re-claimed by Black."

"We wouldn't even need to rely on inconveniences like Lupin if the Ministry would just let the Dementors look, but they can't, of course... not when they might attack the Potter boy instead." His tone, which was angry when he was talking about the Dementors, dwindled into a sigh when he was talking about Potter. "He's probably no safer with him anyway, and at least a Dementor would be capable of subduing a nine-"

"Eight."

"Pardon?"

"The boy is eight. Like Draco." Draco froze at the sound of his own name. Father was quiet for a long time, long enough that Draco began to worry that they had realised he was there. He was just about to move when Father cursed.

"I'd hoped to have nothing to do with Lupin," he said. There was another clink. "That was the point of giving him reign over muggle London."

"Clever of you," Severus said.

"I can't claim credit," Father said sourly. "He asked for the position." Severus said nothing. "Still, he's determined to find the boy which suits my purposes and he's promised to bring the boy here, should he be recovered."

"I'd have thought he'd take him to Dumbledore." Draco thought Severus sounded surprised but he couldn't be sure.

"I won't have the boy in that old fool's custody," said Father, disgusted. "If Harry Potter is what we think he is, having him near Dumbledore is just as bad as having him near Black..." Mother had told Father what Aunt Bella said about Black not serving the Dark Lord and Father had gone from disliking Black, to loathing him. "The Ministry are no better." He was quiet for a bit and then, "Where was Lupin last you heard?"

"Going back to his cave or whatever it is he calls home," Severus said venomously. Draco'd never heard his godfather talk that way and it scared him. "For all we know, last night's events were staged and he's off to meet up with Black."

"Still going on about that, Severus?" Father asked.

"Lupin would forgive Black's treachery in a heartbeat if he thought it would let him get to know Potter's son," Severus said scathingly.

"Pettigrew was the traitor." His tone became rather pointed. "Though with how things turned out, I'd almost believe he betrayed us too."

"Perhaps," Severus said sounding annoyed. "But Black's was the betrayal that mattered in the end. He must have been feeding information to the Dark Lord with myself and Pettigrew. And, Black was the Secret Keeper. Potter was too proud to trust his life to a worthless little worm like Pettigrew-"

"Worthless?!" a shrill voice said angrily. There was a loud thump, like a chair being knocked over and a yelp of pain. Draco pressed his ear closer to the door.

"Put that away, Severus," Father said impatiently.

"You seem to have something of a vermin problem," Severus said stiffly.

"Now, now," Father said, amused. "Is that any way to speak about old friends? Why don't you tell him what you've just told me?"

Draco jumped as a third voice spoke. "Sirius never betrayed anyone. _I_ was the Secret Keeper," a man's squeaky voice said.

"_You?_" Severus snarled.

"Severus, sit _down_," Father snapped. "You're not still sore about Potter's Mudblood, are you?"

"Of course not," Severus said coldly. "Merely surprised. It's not every day a dead man shows up. If you qualify for a man." There was a cry of outrage, presumably from the third man.

"Severus," Lucius said warningly.

"My apologies, Pettigrew." Draco sensed the words were painful for his godfather to say.

The other man spoke up again. "You always were a slimy bast-Ow!"

"James Potter isn't around to protect you anymore," Severus said silkily. "And it would seem that's your own fault." The third man mumbled something Draco didn't hear. "Clever of you, really, to get Potter to swap."

"Peter doesn't deserve the credit," Father said, laughing. "It was Black who suggested it!"

"So Black's not completely innocent," Severus muttered.

"Yes, yes," Father said impatiently. "You can keep hating him. What interests me now is how you're still alive, Peter. He was just getting to that when you arrived, Severus."

"I-it was easy, really," the man - Peter - squeaked.

"Obviously, if you managed to pull it off," Snape muttered.

"I shan't tell it if you're going to be rude," Peter said.

There was a pause. "Continue," Severus said curtly.

"I'd made arrangements with the Dark Lord-" Draco listened eagerly. "-that once Lily and James were dead, he'd come to my house and k-kill Sirius when he came to check on me. We'd planned to use Polyjuice Potion - the Dark Lord would take one of Sirius' hairs and go to D-Dumbledore, distraught, and kill him. I'd deal with Remus, m-make it look like an accident, like he'd scratched himself to death."

"Clever," Father said approvingly. Draco nodded importantly on the other side of the door; Father was impressed so he should feel impressed too.

"I was w-waiting for him to return, though, when my arm went cold. You both know what I'm talking about. I went straight to Godric's Hollow and found Lily and James dead, b-but Harry was alive. I realised what had happened and was about to end the boy's life-"

"And why," Father asked in a voice that made Draco shiver, "would you have done that, Peter?"

"Because the Dark Lord-"

"The Dark Lord was already destroyed," Father said, a little unhappily. Peter whimpered. "Why would you destroy his successor?"

"W-what?"

There was a loud slapping noise, like a hand on a desk. "Harry Potter is the next pure-blood champion," Father said. "He must be. He has some muggle blood from his rotten mother-" Severus snarled, obviously for his hate of muggle blood. "-but there are spells that can be done to fix that-"

"C-champion?" Peter squeaked.

"How else could he have defeated the Dark Lord at the age of one, if not for dark magic?" Father asked. There was a swishing sound, like robes around ankles and Draco gathered either Father or Severus was pacing; this Peter didn't sound like the pacing type.

"I d-don't-"

"And why else would Dumbledore have removed him from the wizarding community?" Father said.

"I-I don't-"

"Fear, Peter, that's why. If the Potter child could defeat the greatest wizard of all time, what chance does an old fool like Dumbledore have?"

"Dumbledore is considered one of the greatest-" Severus began.

"He can't hear you here, Severus, there's no need to defend him," Father said impatiently. "Well, Peter?"

"N-none."

"That's right," Father said in a condescending tone. "And if Black's not Dark, which you - here and alive - seem to indicate, then he's undoubtedly taken Potter to try to turn him 'good'. Needless to say, the Potter boy must be rescued from Black before he does too much damage."

"You're already serving him," Severus said, sounding stunned.

"The Dark Lord always rewarded loyalty handsomely," Father said. "Doubtless Potter will be the same once he is old enough." There was silence from inside the office. "Continue with your story, Peter," Father said at last.

"W-well, I was going to kill Harry - but that was very, very wrong," he added hastily, "-when Sirius s-showed up. I could have taken him, but then Hagrid was there too-"

"Dumbledore's pet oaf," Father said.

"I-I transformed and fled." He was stuttering rather a lot, but Draco didn't think he was scared; it sounded like excited stuttering. "I didn't know what to do. I knew Sirius would be looking for me, but I could smell he'd already been to my house so I knew I'd be safe there, at least for a little while. In the morning, Dumbledore showed up.

"W-we collected Remus and Dumbledore sat us down in his office and told us what had happened. Sirius spent the next few days looking for me, not that he had much choice. Without me he had no proof that there'd ever been a swap. N-not even Dumbledore knew. He tracked me down eventually, which was always bound to happen, I s-suppose."

"I lured him to a crowded street, shouted that he'd betrayed Lily and J-James and then, while he was reaching for his wand, I blew everything up. My wand too, unfortunately, but it made it look authentic. I'd hoped it would kill Sirius b-but he got a Shield Charm up in time, the b-bastard. I cut off my finger to make it look like _I_was the one who'd died, and then I transformed in the confusion and hid in the sewers." He laughed breathlessly. "I watched as they dragged him off to Azkaban."

"Yet this is the first time you've been seen for seven years," Severus said.

"Sirius was out of the way," Peter said, "but if I showed up in Diagon Alley people would recognise me-"

"You think too highly of yourself," Severus said. "You are remarkably forgettable."

"I have an Order of Merlin-"

"For dying," Father said. "And you failed at that. I think Severus has made a good point. Why now, Peter?"

"W-with Sirius out, it isn't safe for me anymore. No doubt he's told the boy what really happened. N-no one's going to listen to Sirius, not now, but they might listen to H-Harry."

"You haven't answered the question. Why _now_?"

"The brother of the b-boy I live with met Harry yesterday. That's too close."

"You've been living with the Weasleys?" Father asked. Draco just _knew_ he was sneering. "Of all the places, Peter..."

"What choice did I have? I know they're blood-traitors but that's n-not new to me. If I'd shown up here you'd have d-drowned me!"

Father chuckled. Severus didn't. "I do hope you realise Arthur Weasley will be wondering why one of his sons is missing a pet. And if word reaches Black-"

"I'm not stupid!" Peter said shrilly. "I replaced myself. I even cut the t-toe off."

"So what is it you want from me?" Father asked.

"Protection," Peter said piteously. "N-"

"What is Master doing listening at doors?" Dobby asked, though he'd had the sense to whisper.

Draco bit down on his tongue to stop from screaming. He grabbed Dobby by the wrist and dragged him down the hall, past the bathroom to the large window that looked into the courtyard. "I forbid you to ever tell anyone about that," Draco whispered fiercely. "This never happened."

"Yes, young Master," the elf squeaked, looking frightened.

"Good," Draco said. "Now... go get me something to eat."

* * *

Severus didn't give himself time to think. He added everything he had learned in the past hour to a cauldron in a room in the outer corridors of his mind, the way he might add other potions ingredients. He left it there to simmer. It would remain there until he was ready to deal with it. For the time being, he had a task.

_Thank goodness it's a Saturday,_ he thought as he stepped out of his fireplace. He glanced at the pile of unmarked work on his desk. _They won't be marked tonight, unfortunately. _He sighed; he'd been hoping to get those done.

He scooped _Medicinal Mixes_ off his bookshelf, Summoned his cauldron and potion kit and established himself in the brewing room adjacent to his quarters. Skele-Gro he would be able to get from Madam Pomfrey - _one of the small travel bottles, I think _- but the Nerve Tonic and Essence of Gecko he would need to make himself.

Neither were tricky - he'd be able to have both done by morning - but they did require a certain attention to detail. Severus got to work, chopping, squeezing, crushing, pouring and stirring. Stirring most of all.

_And one pinch of dried gecko tongues. _He stirred thrice - clockwise, counter-clockwise and then clockwise again and the potion turned a murky green. _Finally._ Severus glanced at the sky outside which was beginning to lighten.

He conjured a flask, filled it, and then set it beside the phial of Nerve Tonic. "_Evanesco_," he murmured, pointing his wand at his cauldron. He packed up, placed his two concoctions in a small wooden chest and returned to his sleeping quarters. He fell straight into his bed, not caring to change his robes or take off his shoes.

_Lucius must think I'm a fool_, he thought bleakly. _A bottle of Skele-Gro, Essence of Gecko and Nerve Tonic._ Not Tonic for nerves, he'd said, but Tonic to fix damaged nerves. _Though I daresay Pettigrew could find use for either, jittery thing that he is. And Lucius wanted a Pain-Reduction Remedy too..._ Severus smiled nastily._Pettigrew will have to do without._

_Pettigrew..._ Reluctantly, Severus freed his memories of the afternoon from the cauldron he'd left them in. To find him alive was one thing. To find out that _he_ had been the Secret Keeper, though...

Severus had known from the outset that Pettigrew had joined the Dark Lord's cause. He was just the type; power-hungry and a little scared. _We all were. Even Lucius. _It had all seemed like fun, like a game, and then his classmates had started to choose sides too.

Potter and his gang had joined Dumbledore midway through their seventh year. Lily too. It was utterly like her - and really, as a muggleborn, what choice had she had? - though Severus had always hoped otherwise. He'd warned Potter then, that Pettigrew was the spy, not outright, never outright - it would have meant his life and he wasn't about to die for Potter - but either Potter had been too stupid to understand his hints or too proud to believe anything but the best of his chubby, traitorous friend.

Outside school, Pettigrew had continued to feed the Dark Lord information. Dates, plans, locations... anything his little rat-ears picked up on. In return, he was never hurt during a duel, only Stunned. Severus had broken his arm once though. He'd told everyone it was an accident and they'd believed him.

Severus had joined Dumbledore's side after hearing the prophecy and learning that the Dark Lord was out to kill Lily. He never said a word about Pettigrew, lest he draw suspicion back on himself; he'd never liked Pettigrew, going through school, spineless thing that he was, and he'd liked him less once he became a Death Eater because it meant he had to put up with him more often, and because his actions were putting Lily in danger.

He would have been the first one the Dark Lord questioned and his betrayal would have been the death of him. Instead, he foiled plans where he could, and tried to undo the damage Pettigrew had done. He'd never suspected Black to be the traitor despite his other - and numerous in Severus' opinion - faults, at least not until he'd heard that Potter and Lily were dead and Black was missing.

Aside from anything else, Black had never been subtle, and Severus struggled to believe that he could have missed the fact that Black was spying for the Dark Lord. What other options were there, though? Black was arrested and taken to Azkaban, Pettigrew was dead and Lily... It had come as a shock - and a painful one at that, worse than any torture he'd ever experienced - to learn Lily was dead.

News of Potter's death had hurt too, strangely, but nowhere near enough to let Severus forgive him. He hated James Potter dead more than he had alive and he was happy to leave it that way. But now, as it turned out, Severus had not heard anything about Black spying for the Dark Lord, because Black such a thing had never happened. Black was not the traitor. He was guilty of a thousand other things, of course; breaking out of prison - he belonged there, whether he'd killed those muggles and Pettigrew or not - kidnapping and deliberate evasion of justice, to name a few. But Black hadn't killed Lily.

It put Severus in a rather sticky situation. He'd rather liked how things were; Potter was dead and Severus hoped he'd stay that way. He'd come to terms with his grief over Lily's death, although not his guilt. He didn't think he'd ever stop trying to make it up to her, however, and he had reconciled himself with that. Black - popular, Quidditch-star, good-looking, Black - was hated by everyone and had spent the majority of his adult life behind bars with only Dementors for company.

The thought brought a smile to Severus' face. Lupin had remained free but certainly not unpunished; he'd looked old the last time Severus saw him, and while some of his Marauder-induced boldness remained, the majority had been crushed by the past seven years, which he'd spent alone. Pettigrew, he'd believed dead, a fate Severus had thought he thoroughly deserved.

But he wasn't. And it was him that had killed Lily. And only Pettigrew himself, Lucius, Severus, Black and possibly the Potter boy knew. The last two would be apprehended before they got the chance to speak, so it really only left three. Lucius had clearly seen an ulterior purpose for helping Pettigrew and, so, while it suited him, Lucius wouldn't tell a soul. Pettigrew's life depended on his silence so he'd never tell anyone either. That left Severus. And if Severus told, they'd know it had been him.

What would Dumbledore think, though, if Severus were to keep something this big from him? He owed the man his life, but telling him would mean doing Black a favour and that would be unbearable. As they were prone to doing in times of indecision, Severus' thoughts flicked to Lily and what she would do, what she would want. Since he was the one that had taken away her ability to do or say things herself, he would do it on her behalf.

_Lily would want her son safe_, Severus knew immediately. _And Black too. She was... fond of him. _The thought made his skin crawl. _I wonder what she'd make of this Dark Lord business..._ He shook his head; he could well imagine and it wasn't pleasant. It was simply ludicrous that anyone could believe the offspring - Severus still hated that thought - of James Potter and Lily Evans could be evil. The child was no doubt as arrogant and spoiled as his saintly father, but not Dark.

_And, if Black's innocent, I can't imagine Potter's son is in danger from anything but Black's lack of maturity. And wherever it is they're hiding, they've yet to be found. Yesterday being the exception of course, but Lupin was the only one there and given half a chance, Black would have talked him around._

Severus' thoughts soured. _It seems I was wrong about that too; Lupin's either a very good actor or he doesn't know the truth. _He sighed loudly and rolled into his pillow. _Yet again, Potter's son and friends are meddling with my life!_

* * *

"Hydrus! Draco! Come downstairs. I have presents for the both of you," Father called.

Draco and Hydrus glanced at Mother. "Go," she said, sighing. She closed the book she'd been reading them with a quiet snap.

Both boys got up and sprinted down the hall, around the corner and downstairs, where Father was waiting. He frowned. "Malfoys do not run," he said coolly.

"Yes, Father," Hydrus said immediately, looking stricken.

"Sorry," Draco added.

Father smiled slightly. "I have decided that you both need to learn what it is to have control over another living thing. Some would call it responsibility."

"But not you," Hydrus said.

Father inclined his head. "No, not me."

"Father, that's what Dobby's for," Draco said, arrogantly.

"Dobby belongs to the family, not to you," Father reminded him. "These, however, are yours." Father held out two small, brown shapes.

"It's a rat," Hydrus said flatly.

"It is your rat," Father said, passing him one of the two. His was slightly larger than the one Father gave Draco, and slightly darker in colour. Otherwise, there was little difference between them. Draco cradled his carefully, with two hands. "You'll have to be careful. They're not toys. Don't squeeze it," Father warned as Hydrus lifted his up, curiously.

"I wasn't going to," Hydrus said.

Draco stared at his curiously. He didn't like rats much; once, when he was younger, he'd got lost in the cellar and spent the night listening to them squeak. Father had put up wards the next day to keep them out, but the damage was done. This one _seemed_ friendly enough, though. Its whiskers twitched as it sniffed his fingers.

"What are they called?" he asked.

"That's for you to decide."

Hydrus was quiet. "Bosworth," he said finally, with a little grin. "Like the cheese."

His rat squeaked. "I don't think he likes it," Draco said.

"It's a rat," Father said coldly. "Of course it likes it. And yours, Draco?"

"Roquefort. They can both be like cheeses."

Draco's rat squeaked too. "Yours doesn't like it either," Hydrus said.

"Does so!"

"Enough petty bickering," Father said. "They both like their names and that is that. He glared at both rats as if to make his point. "Play nicely now."

"I'll show you the house," Hydrus decided, cradling the rat carefully in his hands. "This room that we're in," he told Bosworth, while Draco stared, "is the foyer. Those stairs lead to the upstairs hallway where my bedroom and Draco's bedroom and Mother and Father's bedroom and the library and the guest rooms are." Hydrus strode toward the double doors on the right into the hallway and stared explaining the rules about Father's office.

Roquefort squeaked at Draco. "What?" he asked it. "I'm not giving you a tour." The rat squeaked again, as if to ask why. "Because you're a rat, stupid."

The more time Draco spent with his rat, the more he disliked it; all Roquefort wanted to do was sleep and he had an unfortunate habit of biting Draco's things, and if Draco tried to stop him, Draco's fingers. Hydrus on the other hand, refused to be separated from Bosworth.

He'd claimed the small wooden potion chest that Severus had brought to the Manor earlier that week and stuffed it with blankets; Father had been furious when he heard Hydrus planned to let the rat sleep on his pillow. Roquefort wasn't allowed on Draco's pillow either - Father had forbidden it, but Draco wasn't keen on the idea anyway - and he slept in the cage Draco had made Dobby buy.

"Draco, look!" Hydrus called, walking past with Bosworth sitting on his shoulder; to start with, Hydrus' gait had been too uneven and the rat had often squealed before sliding slowly and inevitably down his back but it seemed they'd mastered it.

Draco watched jealously and poked the sleeping lump in his pocket. "Why can't you do that?" he asked Roquefort; he too had tried to teach his rat to sit on his shoulder but Roquefort had fallen off after a few yards, bitten Draco when he tried to pick him up, and refused to be handled for the rest of the day.

* * *

_"I will attack the Potters this time next week," the Dark Lord said in his cold, high, voice. "They will, I presume, have returned by then." _

_His red eyes turned to Pettigrew who trembled. "That is correct, My Lord. James said they'll be leaving St Mungo's tomorrow."_

_"Which is when they'll feel most vulnerable," the Dark Lord said. "Let them sit and grow confident again."_

_"Yes, My Lord."_

_"You will organise a meeting time with them, Wormtail," he ordered. "A time when they will, without doubt, be there. And the boy. The boy must be there." Pettigrew bowed. "Leave." He left. The Dark Lord turned his terrible eyes on Severus. "I suppose you are wondering why I have called you here."_

_"I'm sure My Lord has his reasons," Severus said, not meeting his eyes. He felt a light, probing touch in his mind and did nothing to resist it. In fact, he titled his head and met those red eyes. The Dark Lord's consciousness crept in as a snake. He could even feel its scales - cool, smooth and a little slimy - as it slithered through the dungeon that was his mind. _

_There were thousands of corridors, cold, dark and unwelcoming - most ended in doors that would deposit an intruder on the outside of his mind. Others simply ended. Some never did. Some had doors which led to storerooms of potion ingredients, or potions themselves. Some rooms were empty. Only one path would take anyone into the depths of his mind and it was a long journey, with corridors that doubled back on each other, and so many forks it was almost too difficult to bother with._

_Of course, Severus was not foolish enough to frustrate the Dark Lord. The moment the Dark Lord had ventured in, his mind had re-shaped itself to form a dungeon identical to that of Hogwarts'. The Dark Lord, as a former Slytherin, knew his way around perfectly. Severus feigned disappointment. The Dark Lord stopped in several of the storerooms along the way. _

_In one, he glanced at the array of unlabelled potions with interest and his tongue flickered out to taste the fumes of an Essence of Euphoria. In another, his Legillimency took a human form and he strode over to peruse the shelves of ingredients. He picked up a jar of daisy roots and tossed it to the floor - the Dark Lord could be gentle when he wanted to, but unexpected gestures were a good way of testing one's defences. Severus winced, knowing the Dark Lord would see it, as the jar shattered into nothing on the stone floor. _

_Satisfied, the Dark Lord continued into the office that Severus had moved into only days before, when Slughorn moved out. Severus had remodelled the core of his mind to show the office instead of the Slytherin Common Room for the sake of security; those that might try to force their way into his mind were not likely to be as intimately familiar with the Head of Slytherin's office as they were with the Slytherin Common Room. _

_Jars lined the walls, as did bottles of potions and each contained a thought, memory or emotion. The Dark Lord scooped up a small jar of pollen from a tiger lily and opened it. A memory of Severus and Lily paddling in the little river that ran through their thicket emerged. _

_The Dark Lord watched with interest and then placed the jar back on the shelf and picked up a roll of bright green snakeskin. The Sorting Hat's voice booming 'SLYTHERIN!' echoed through the stone room. Another object - a phial labelled Veritaserum this time - was chosen at random and opened. Severus heard his seventeen-year-old self pledging his allegiance to the Dark Lord. Smiling now, the Dark Lord swept over to the gleaming silver cauldron that was simmering in the corner. _

_The Dark Lord glanced with slight amusement at the ragged cloth beside it. "You polish your cauldrons even here, Severus?" Severus didn't respond because he didn't trust his voice. _

_The Dark Lord dipped a hand into the cauldron - which contained a potion of Severus' thoughts - and Severus heard snatches of his voice; _...didn't wash his hands... potion's useless now... find my office so easily?... be better defended than this... too powerful... My Lord..._ Seeming pleased, the Dark Lord backed out of his head._

_Severus sank to his knees, his eyes on the floor. Already, his mind was reshaping itself into the maze-like labyrinth it usually was. Already his magic was scouring the surfaces and floors the Dark Lord had touched. The memories that had been disturbed were righting themselves and settling into their usual places. _

_And he'd succeeded; the Dark Lord had knocked over that jar of daisy roots - those were in fact just a figment of his imagination - but the powdered bumblebee stings on the shelf above it were not. They contained the memories of his true reasons for siding with Dumbledore and remained untouched, as did the pellets of muggle rat poison that were the memories of the - unheeded - warnings he'd given Potter about Pettigrew in their seventh year. _

_In another storeroom, a packet of cactus barbs that contained his memories of his mother - who was very like a cactus; not necessarily pretty, but resilient, practical and prickly - lay innocently in a drawer only a few feet from the Essence of Euphoria the Dark Lord had looked at and surrounded by other pretend ingredients and potions. The ragged cloth the Dark Lord had asked about held his memories of the conversation with the Sorting Hat, as he begged it to put him in Gryffindor with Lily._

_Better yet, the potion in the cauldron that contained his thoughts worked rather like water and oil, with two distinct layers, and the Dark Lord had not suspected a thing as he ran his hand through the top layer. Severus was almost giddy with success but didn't show it; he hid that memory in a small phial that contained a clear liquid - it was pure alcohol - sometimes used in Befuddlement Draughts or Healing Potions - but looked like water, and while it might make him feel good, too much would certainly kill him. _

_"Rise, Severus," the Dark Lord said._

_Severus stood. "My Lord," he said, inclining his head. "You found what you were looking for?"_

_He still looked pleased - Severus knew he was happy that his memories of becoming a Death Eater had been stored in a phial of 'Veritaserum'. It wasn't Veritaserum, of course. It was water - necessary if one wanted to survive, nothing more - but it looked the same and had no smell that the human nose could pick up on, so the Dark Lord wouldn't know any different. "I did."_

_"I'm glad I've been useful to you, My Lord."_

_"There is more," the Dark Lord said softly._

_"More, My Lord?"_

_"It concerns your... fondness... for the Potter Mudblood."_

_"She was a good friend to me growing up," Severus said carefully. "Nothing more."_

_"Such lies, Severus. I saw the memories." Severus resisted the urge to snort; his most significant memories of Lily were his most fiercely protected, tucked away in obscure places; in a jar with the petals of the blossom she'd scared her sister with on the day they first talked, in a potion that was the same green as her eyes, in a jar of dried heather because that had been her mother's name, in a jar of the roots of a gorse bush because that's what he'd sat under after his Defence Against the Dark Arts O.W.L. exam... The Dark Lord had seen none of those._

_"Forgive me, My Lord, but I have some small talent with Legillimency and consequently understand the futility of attempting to deceive one who is vastly more gifted than I." _

_The Dark Lord seemed to consider that for a moment. "Even so, Severus," he said finally, "you will be saddened by her death." _

_"Is it... not possible to... spare her?"_

_"She has made it clear that her loyalties lie with Dumbledore," the Dark Lord replied, watching him carefully. Severus gave a jerky nod. He was on dangerous ground here and they both knew it. "She dies next week. Do with that what you will. Leave. Send Lucius in."_

_"Yes, my Lord." Severus bowed and swept out of the room. "Lucius," he said, nodding. Lucius passed him, his pale face unreadable._

Do with that what you will..._ Severus repeated the words in his head. _So he knows. Knows or suspects. It's a test. _Lily was as good as dead unless he did something and if he did, _he_ was dead. _Give me a stupid Master over a clever one any day_, Severus thought bitterly._

_"Bad news?"_

Not so much any more..._ A plan formed in Severus' head. _What if both Lily and I can survive this?

_"Sev? Was it bad?" When Regulus Black joined partway through his seventh year - it had come as a shock to Severus, who'd always picked the younger Black to be a bystander in the war - they had become friends of sorts, despite Severus' loathing for his brother. _

_"Bad enough," he said. _

_Regulus fell into step beside him. "What happened?"_

_Severus knew Regulus - despite them being on opposite sides of the war - would hate for harm to come to Black or his friends, and he also knew if anyone could tip them off without giving everything away, it would be him._

_"Another murder plot," Severus said, working to sound bored._

_"Who?" Regulus asked, his shoulders stiffening._

_"Potter and Lily," Severus said. "And their son."_

_"Why didn't you just say 'The Potters'?" Regulus asked, puzzled. "They're married."_

A fact I work awfully hard to try to forget. _Regulus, of course, would remember it vividly because Potter had invited him. "Oh, yes."_

_"When?"_

_"When what?"_

_"When's the attack?" Regulus asked, his grey eyes oddly bright._

_"This time next week. Pe-plans-" Severus said smoothly, "have been made to ensure they'll be there at the proper time." For the very same reason that this was likely to work, Severus also couldn't reveal Pettigrew's true nature; Regulus was prone to having fits of gallantry - Severus supposed it was a side-effect of growing up with Black - and if he told Black, the Dark Lord would kill him. Since Regulus was as good a friend as Severus had had since Lily, he wasn't about to do that-_

_"Enough," Severus said and the dream-memory halted. With a wave of his hand the dark corridor disappeared taking Regulus with it. "Wake up," he told himself._

Severus opened his eyes after dreaming of the war for the fifth time in as many nights after seeing Pettigrew again. It made sense, that after seeing the man who had betrayed Lily, Severus would find himself remembering when he had betrayed the Dark Lord in order to save her. It didn't mean he had to like it.

War memories were hard to deal with at the best of times, particularly when they came unbidden. This one at least, had ended reasonably well; Severus had gone to visit Draco - who had only been about two months old on the night of the attack - and Hydrus, who had been only ten months old.

Not only had he met the child he was secondary guardian to - since he'd already met Hydrus - but he was also in Lucius' presence and could not be blamed for the plan being foiled. And it had indeed been foiled; Severus later learned that Regulus had staged a fight with Black and drawn Potter, Lily, Potter's son and even Lupin to his brother's apartment, and out of harm's way. The Dark Lord's trust in Severus had been renewed, thus giving him more freedom, and with that freedom, he had served the Order.

Beyond that memory, things were not so happy; Regulus had died a week later - Severus never learned how and he didn't think the Dark Lord had either; Regulus' Dark Mark's magic had informed him - and Severus had had to take the news to Walburga Black and endure her misery for the best part of an hour.

That brought back memories too; the house elf had been distraught to hear Severus talk about his Master's death. Even now Severus could hear its croaky wailing and see its big, bloodshot eyes...

He blanked his mind with Occlumency, focusing on the grey stone walls of his dungeon-mind but the thoughts were still there, just hidden. He sighed and rolled over, trying to get back to sleep, though he suspected it was a futile endeavour.


	11. An Unlikely Allegiance

_Ostendere me omnia_, Harry thought. His vision flickered and there was a flash of colour and then Harry's vision flickered again and went back to normal.

"The brat is not being even close that time," Kreacher croaked. He had returned to his active dislike of Padfoot and his tolerance of Harry after helping Padfoot find Harry earlier that month; Grimmauld's wards were so comprehensive that they tracked anyone leaving the house via magical means and Kreacher had been able to read them at Padfoot's request.

Padfoot was much nicer to the old elf as a result - and because he was back to cooking and cleaning - and even tolerated his obsession with the drawing room.

"Not at all?" Harry asked.

"Not at all," Kreacher told him. "Clearly Master's ineptitude is catching. Kreacher just hopes Kreacher does not catch it too-"

"I'm trying, all right?" Harry snapped.

"Apparating's hard," Padfoot had warned him when Harry approached him with the idea a few weeks earlier. "Quite a few grown wizards can't even manage it, but then, house elves can Apparate before they can walk."

Padfoot was watching now, with an over-done sulky expression; Harry had warned him to look upset about the whole thing to keep Kreacher happy, because the only way he'd got Kreacher to agree to it, was by telling him that Padfoot thought it was a bad idea.

Padfoot actually thought it was a very good idea, because, while he was limited by the wards, Kreacher wasn't and Padfoot hoped he could pass that skill onto Harry. Padfoot had tried to get Kreacher to teach him how to see the wards and Apparate through them – so he could teach Harry instead - but it had resulted in a shouting match, and animosity between the pair for days until Harry, who was sick of Padfoot being moody and Kreacher's muttering, forced them to drop it.

"The brat insists on wasting Kreacher's time," Kreacher muttered.

Frowning, Harry clutched his wand - house elves didn't need wands but all wizards did – and muttered the incantation again; if he had any hope of Apparating in Grimmauld Place, he'd need to see the wards. House elves, according to Kreacher, could see them naturally, but people required an incantation and it had taken Harry almost a week to find one.

Finally, he'd found it in the book they'd found in Regulus' room, titled _Traces and Auras: See The Magic Around You._ It was an interesting read in Harry's opinion, and none of the incantations required a wand, only concentration and innate magical ability. So far, it was the concentration that Harry was struggling with.

"Try saying them out loud," Padfoot suggested.

"The book says to think them," Harry snapped.

"Try it," Padfoot said patiently.

"_Ostendere me omnia_," Harry said, rolling his eyes at his godfather. His mouth fell open. The entire room had come to life and was pulsing with light and magic.

"Is it working?" Padfoot asked. His magic, Harry noticed, was a brilliant red colour, and it looked like the sea on a rough day, constantly swirling around him, surging and massing at various points and then gone and somewhere else the next. Kreacher was a soft green, so pale it was almost white, and brittle, Harry thought, though he couldn't explain why or how if he tried. His magic didn't move much but it was very concentrated.

Harry himself was red and gold, made of tiny sparks, like the ones that had come out of his wand the day he bought it. Even the walls had magic; he could see the complex weave of Orion Black's murky green and black magic in thin, wire-like strands, Padfoot's interwoven crimson and here and there and Harry's own red and gold, presumably from the Fidelius Charm.

The warding moved as a whole entity, pulsing. Harry now understood what Kreacher had said about them being alive, but he didn't understand how in Godric's name he was supposed to find a hole in them. "_Finite_," he said. The colour faded and then the training room was back to its normal - and now comparably dull - state. "It's brilliant," he said. "And sorry for snapping." Padfoot smiled.

"It-" But what Padfoot was about to say, Harry never found out. Right at that moment, there was a loud pop outside and a hooded figure dressed all in black appeared in the street. The figure dropped his hood and revealed a man with black hair to his shoulders - almost like Padfoot's - and a sallow face. The other features were distinguishable, but Padfoot's jaw dropped. "No," he gasped, running over to the window to get a better look.

"Who is it?" Harry wanted to know, following his godfather to the window.

The man glanced at Number Thirteen and then at Number Eleven. Then he turned and stared at Number Twelve. He would be able to see it, of course, since the Fidelius Charm didn't actually hide the house; usually the Fidelius Charm was entwined with others that did, but Padfoot had said that making Number Twelve vanish would draw attention to it, and Harry was inclined to agree.

What the Fidelius Charm did hide, was Harry and Padfoot; someone could walk into Number Twelve and search every room and never find either of them, because, as long as Harry and Padfoot were inside the house, the charm would conceal their existence. Padfoot had said Dumbledore himself could stand in the same room as them and not know they were there.

"That," Padfoot growled, "is Snivellus."

Harry stared. "_That's_ him? What's he doing here?"

Padfoot whistled loudly; after listening to the sales witch in Diagon Alley, Padfoot had attempted to train Hedwig so that he could prove dogs were better companions. She'd learned to come when she was called, but disdained - privately, Harry didn't think it was necessary for an owl to learn to hoot on command or chase its tail – to learn the other tricks Padfoot had attempted to teach her to do. He'd bragged about the victory for days.

A moment later she flew into the training room and landed on the window seat. Padfoot had Summoned writing equipment from the other side of the room and was writing a note. Harry got a glimpse as he passed it to the owl.

_What do you want?_ it said in Padfoot's neat, rather pointy hand.

Harry opened his mouth to ask if confirming that they were there – even though he couldn't find them unless Harry told him where they were - was a good idea but he thought it might be a bit too late for that; Snivellus - Snape was his real name, Harry remembered - was watching Number Twelve with an odd mix of glee and loathing, and seemed to be deciding whether to come inside or not. "Send the quill too," Harry suggested.

Padfoot nodded stiffly and gave Hedwig the quill. Harry opened the window and she flew out, startling Snape. He wrote something down and sent it back.

Padfoot opened the note at once and Harry craned his neck to read it. _To talk_, Snape had written in a messy scrawl.

_Then talk, _Padfoot wrote.

_Inside._

_Come in, then_. Hary could hear the challenge in those words.

_Am I able to?_

_Try._

Snape stared at the note for almost a minute before he scribbled something back. _I believe I'll require an escort._

"What do you think?" Padfoot asked Harry, his eyes never once leaving the man on the street.

"Er... I dunno - can we trust him?"

Padfoot snorted but then his expression became thoughtful. _Send your wand back with the owl_, Padfoot wrote on the back or the scrap of parchment.

"You're letting him in?" Harry asked.

"He knows where we are," Padfoot said, "but he's not bound by the Fidelius Charm so he can tell whoever he wants that we're here. No one would be able to find us, but I don't even want them _looking. _If we tell him the secret, he's bound by it and he won't be able to say anything."

"Oh." Harry looked back out the window at Snape, who was glaring between Padfoot's note and the house.

A moment later, Hedwig returned with a long wand made of reddish wood. _Break it and I will kill you with my bare hands_, said the note accompanying it.

"Red Oak," Padfoot murmured, tossing the parchment aside. "And Dragon Heartstring, I think."

"How do you know?"

He snorted, shoving it into his pocket. "The number of times Prongs and I stole this thing... I'll tell you about it later. Our... guest... is waiting." Harry and Padfoot made their way to the front door. "_Obscuro,"_ Padfoot said calmly. A blindfold appeared, covering Snape's eyes. The other man seemed annoyed but he didn't fight it. Padfoot and Harry walked down, took one of Snape's arms each and led him up the stairs and into the house. They took him into the study and Padfoot locked the door with a charm and closed the curtains.

Only then did he take the blindfold off. Snape's cold black eyes trailed over the room, taking in the closed door, the covered windows and then finally came to land on Padfoot, with loathing. They moved to Harry a moment later. The man looked like he'd been slapped. Harry stared back at him, defiant. Snape's eyes moved to his eyes instead of his face and hair and then he swallowed and looked away.

"How did you find us?" Padfoot demanded.

"I had a dream," Snape said in a curt voice. Harry found his eyes drawn to the man's hooked nose and greasy hair. Both were just as bad as Padfoot had always said.

"You dreamed about the house?" Padfoot said flatly.

"Your brother, actually." Snape said. "I was the one who told your mother he'd died. Did you know that?" Padfoot bared his teeth. "Apparently not. I remembered your elf and this house. How else could you trick the Trace? You aren't stupid, Black, but you aren't competent enough to set up wards that could throw off a Ministry-order monitoring charm, nor are you competent enough to get by without magic-"

"Yes, but how did you _know?_"

"You opened the window," Snape drawled.

"No, I asked-"

"I heard you the first time, Black," Snape said impatiently. "I listen, you see. It's quite a useful skill-"

Padfoot snarled and took a step closer to the other wizard. "So help me, Snivellus-"

"I suspected you might be here," Snape said with a nasty smile. "But nothing more, at least not until you sent your bird out. I've been told time and time again, _assured_, that you loathe this house so very much that you'd never dream of setting a foot inside." Snape's expression soured. "I did suggest you might be drawn to the house, if only for the neighbours, but Dumbledore assured me that was not the case, that the house had been checked before you took the boy-" Snape's eyes flicked to Harry. "- and had been watched ever since."

"If only for the neighbours?" Padfoot asked, puzzled.

"Surely you know," Snape drawled. Padfoot and Harry exchanged bemused looks. Snape eyed them both before lifting an eyebrow. "Fascinating. It seems, Black, that your powers of observation are as pathetically limited as they were the last time we met-"

"Why did you come?" Padfoot asked coldly. "Why alone? I'd have thought you'd bring a hundred Dementors, Dumbledore _and_ the Ministry."

"Don't tempt me," Snape said, his dark eyes glinting. "There's still nothing more I would like than to hand you over to the Dementors, Black."

"So why haven't you?" Harry asked while Padfoot seethed.

Snape watched him curiously. "I happen to know the truth."

"You?" Padfoot snarled.

"Me," Snape said with a nasty smile that showed his yellowing teeth. "I'd never have picked you for a traitor, Black-"

"I'm touched," Padfoot said, in a tone that suggested he was anything but.

Snape glowered at him. "A murderer, yes - how could I not? - but never a traitor. Not to Potter anyway. And then, as it happens, I ran into an old school friend of ours. One I'd believed dead."

"Peter," Padfoot hissed. One of the lamps on the wall exploded. "Where? Where was he?"

"He could be anywhere by now, I'm sure," Snape said with a glance at the lamp. "This was two weeks ago."

"_Reparo,"_ Harry muttered. The lamp fixed itself, though it resembled a mosaic more than the smooth glass dome it had been before. Snape looked at him for a moment and then turned back to Padfoot.

"So you figured it out," Padfoot said. He Summoned an armchair from the corner and sank into it. "Who else knows?"

"No one," Snape said.

"And I'm supposed to believe that?" Padfoot asked, incredulous. "After everything that happened between us in school, I'm supposed to believe you'd do us a favour, Snivellus?"

Snape's eyes flicked to Harry. "Believe what you will," he said curtly.

Padfoot struggled with himself for a moment, growled once and then, looking rather annoyed asked, "Why?"

"For the same reasons you've said nothing," Snape said. "There's no evidence but my word or yours. Dumbledore might believe me, or perhaps even Lupin, but that accomplishes nothing. They cannot get you a pardon. Even if the Ministry were to believe you were not the Secret Keeper, they'll still charge you with everything else you've done. If you have any hope of freedom, they'll need to realise they're wrong themselves. Only once they're tripping over their apologies will you have any hope." He looked like he hoped that day would never come.

"And for them to realise they're wrong, I need Peter," Padfoot muttered.

"Precisely. And even if I were to tell the Ministry anything, or have someone tell them on my behalf, they would no doubt trace the rumour back to me and I will be forced to explain why I am defending you. The Ministry is utterly incompetent but even they could not overlook an old Death Eater working to absolve a supposedly active one..." He shook his head. "I worked hard to redeem myself after the war and I will die before I throw that away for the likes of you."

Padfoot watched Snape like a dog might watch a cat; Snape was clearly the prey but Padfoot didn't want a nose full of claws either. "Then why have you come here at all?" he asked finally. "Why not just stay quiet and pretend you know nothing?"

Snape's eyes flicked to Harry again. "I had to check on the boy."

"Since when do you care about James' son?" Padfoot asked.

There was a pause. Snape's eyes met Harry's again. "I do not care for Potter's spawn," he said finally, looking away. "But while you're guiltless of killing Potter an-" He cleared his throat. "-_The_ Potter's, you have other crimes. I will not have a child - any child - in an environment where they are not comfortable."

"I am," said Harry at once. Snape looked at him. "Comfortable, I mean."

"You enjoy Black's company?"

"He's loads better than the Dursleys."

A flicker of irritation passed over Snape's face at the mention of the Dursleys but it was gone again a moment later. "Very well." He looked back to Padfoot. "Will he be attending Hogwarts?"

"Of course!" Harry and Padfoot said together.

"I've done what I came for then," Snape said, brushing dust off his robes. He turned to Harry. "Know now that I will treat you as I would any other student." Harry nodded. _Warning received. He'll hate me because he hates Padfoot and Dad._Snape held out his hand. For a moment Harry thought he wanted Padfoot to shake it, but he merely said, "My wand."

"You'll stay quiet about what happened here?" Padfoot asked, extracting the wand from his pocket.

"As I've said, I have no desire whatsoever to implicate myself." Padfoot waved his own wand and the door opened. "That also means, should you slip up and find yourself back in Azkaban, you can expect no help from me."

"I wouldn't want it anyway," Padfoot said.

Harry privately agreed but he elbowed his godfather nonetheless. Padfoot scowled. They walked Snape to the front door and then Padfoot passed him his wand and sent him on his way.

"Arse," Padfoot muttered, glowering at Snape's retreating figure. "'Expect no help from me'," he said in a bad imitation of Snape's drawl.

"I thought you said you didn't want it," Harry said, his lips twitching.

Padfoot huffed. "I don't. He didn't have to say it, though." He wrinkled his nose. "You know, I don't think he's washed his hair since I last saw him."

* * *

"And then," Padfoot said with tears in his eyes, "Prongs walked right up to Snivellus and sprayed him with shampoo!" Harry laughed. Snape's visit the day before had seemed to make Padfoot want to relive all of his Snape-based memories. Not that Harry minded in the least; he was happy to hear any stories about his dad, his godfather and - if Padfoot was to be believed - the man that was his 'godmother', Remus Lupin - who Padfoot assured him was not usually as he had been in London.

It troubled him a little to hear how cruel they'd been to Snape, but - with prodding - Padfoot had also revealed that Snape was capable of giving as bad as he got, if not worse. Still, having heard what he'd heard, he didn't find it hard to see why Snape had hated Padfoot and his dad, or why they had hated him.

"Here," Padfoot said.

Harry, who had been reading over the Black family tapestry - and given up on making sense of the unfamiliar names and instead begun counting the members (there were nearly five hundred) - glanced up.

"Er... thanks?" Harry said, peering at a cracked pair of reading glasses.

Padfoot chuckled. "Consider it an advanced birthday present."

"I know just where to put them too," Harry said, dropping them into the rubbish bag.

"You aren't keeping them?" Padfoot asked in falsely injured tones.

Harry snorted. "I'll keep mine, thanks."

"I think they were my grandmother's," Padfoot said with a shudder. "They'd probably bite or something anyway. Horrible woman."

"Seems to run in the family," Harry said. "Except for maybe Regulus."

"Yeah-Hey!" Padfoot spun, ready to grab him but Harry'd anticipated this and moved out of reach. "You evil, little-" Padfoot muttered.

"Little what?" Harry asked innocently.

"Boy. Evil, little boy." Harry grinned. "Here- Ow!" Padfoot said, dropping a silver snuff-box which appeared to have bitten him. He examined his hand, his expression curious; as they watched his skin turned brown and crusty. "Must be Wartcap powder, in there," he said finally, tapping his hand with his wand. He levitated the box into the rubbish bag. An Order of Merlin, First Class, awarded to Padfoot's grandfather followed it a moment later.

"Services to the Ministry?" Harry asked.

"He gave them a lot of gold," Padfoot said dismissively, gesturing for Harry to put it back in the bag.

There was another copy of _Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy_. "How many of these things have you got?" Harry asked; so far they'd come across one in Regulus' room, one in the downstairs study, one in the library and now another one here.

"Who knows," Padfoot said, shrugging. "But any chance my mother had to remind herself of her spotless bloodlin- Oi!" A spindly, silver thing had just come crawling out of the cabinet and was trying to stab Padfoot with one of its pointed legs. He crushed it with the book; it let out a high pitched squeal before Padfoot picked it up gingerly and threw it into the rubbish bag. The book followed.

Kreacher let out a whimper. "There are two other copies in this house," Padfoot said, shooting the elf an irritated glance.

Kreacher had spent the majority of the morning standing in the doorway to see what they were throwing out. He'd made attempts to rescue things; some, like a photo of Walburga Black, Padfoot hadn't let him keep ("There's a massive one downstairs!" he'd said before ordering Kreacher out of the room), but others, like a golden ring that bore the Black crest, Harry had persuaded Padfoot to let him have. Kreacher had sobbed for almost five minutes when he learned it was his to keep forever and even bowed to Harry before he stole downstairs to tuck it away in his den behind the boiler.

"Eurgh," Padfoot said. "Look at this thing." A heavy golden locket landed in his lap. Harry shivered for no real reason. There was a large 'S' made of emeralds on the front of it but otherwise it was fairly plain.

Harry tried and failed to open it, frowned and tossed it back to Padfoot. "It won't open."

"It's probably just got a picture of my mother or grandmother in it," Padfoot said, but he couldn't open it either. "Ah well." Harry held the rubbish bag open and Padfoot lobbed it in. Kreacher wailed. "What?" Padfoot asked annoyed.

"The-the locket," Kreacher managed. He tottered into the room and scooped the locket out of the bag.

"Put that down," Padfoot said.

Kreacher dropped the thing immediately but it seemed to pain him. "Could Kreacher... keep the locket?" he asked Harry.

"We already gave you a ring," Padfoot said.

"Kreacher will give back the ring," Kreacher said, crawling over to grip the cuffs of Padfoot's jeans. "Kreacher will give back the book and the photo of Mistress Cissy and Mistress Bella if Kreacher can have the locket."

"No," Padfoot said. "The locket's going in the rubbish." Kreacher picked the thing up and clutched it to his chest. Padfoot wrestled it out of the old elf's grasp and Kreacher burst into tears. "Stop that," Padfoot said, irritated, tossing the locket back into the rubbish bag. Kreacher glared at him and then looked beseechingly at Harry. "You're not getting it," Padfoot said. The elf let out a croaking sob.

"Why do you want it?" Harry asked. "Why's it better than that ring?"

"Kreacher promised," the elf wheezed. Harry frowned and looked uncertainly at Padfoot, who was frowning too.

"Promised what?" Padfoot asked. "Tell me."

The elf quivered but couldn't disobey. "To destroy it. Kreacher promised Master, yes he did, but now he's failed, yes he has, and mean Master, nasty Master won't let Kreacher have it!" The elf threw himself on the ground with a wail.

"What Master?" Padfoot asked. "Kreacher, stop crying."

Kreacher sat up sniffling. "M-Master Regulus," the old elf wailed. A tear leaked out of one bulbous eye and he threw himself on the ground shrieking. "Bad Kreacher!" he croaked, slamming his head into the ground.

"Kreacher, sit still!" Padfoot ordered. "No more punishments unless I say so!" Kreacher froze and looked up at them both with red-rimmed eyes. "What did Master Regulus tell you?"

"To destroy the locket," the elf moaned, pulling the locket out of the bag. "Master Regulus-"

"Drop that. Yes, we know, the locket was Master Regulus'," Padfoot said impatiently. "I want you to tell me everything you know about this locket and what Reg had to do with it."

"Master," Kreacher said in a very thin voice, "was a naughty boy. Master broke Mistress' heart when he ran away to live with blood-traitors. Master Regulus was a good boy, and proud and happy and knew what was due to his bloodline and to the noble name of Black."

"Yes," Padfoot said, rolling his eyes, "we know."

"Master Regulus had been watching the Dark Lord for years," Kreacher said, almost reverently. Harry grimaced, thinking of all the clippings they'd stripped off the wall. "When Master Regulus was sixteen-"

"Seventeen," Padfoot muttered.

Kreacher and Harry both shot him dirty looks. "Master Regulus joined the Dark Lord and he was happy, he was proud to serve. And one day, a year after he joined, Master Regulus came down to the kitchen to see Kreacher and Master Regulus... Master Regulus said the Dark Lord required an elf."

"An elf?" Padfoot said, frowning at Harry, but his eyes weren't in focus.

"An elf," Kreacher agreed pitifully, "and Master Regulus had volunteered Kreacher. Master Regulus said it was an honour, for Kreacher and for Master Regulus, and that Kreacher must be sure to do whatever the Dark Lord ordered him to do, and then c-come home." Kreacher began to rock, his thin arms wrapped around his scrawny legs, his breath coming in pitchy gusts.

"So Kreacher went to the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord did not tell Kreacher what they were to be doing but Kreacher and the Dark Lord went to a cave. A cave by the sea, and beyond the cave was a cavern and inside the cavern was a lake. A great, black lake. There was a boat, and the Dark Lord and Kreacher used the boat to get to an island."

Harry was feeling nauseated. Padfoot looked uneasy. "Then what?" Padfoot asked in a quiet, almost gentle tone.

"There was a-a b-basin full of potion on the island." Kreacher trembled. "The Dark Lord made Kreacher drink it... Kreacher drank and Kreacher saw terrible things. Kreacher's insides burned. Kreacher cried for Master Regulus and for his Mistress Black, but the Dark Lord only laughed and made Kreacher drink it all... Kreacher drank the potion... the Dark Lord dropped a locket into the empty basin... He filled it with more potion. And then the D-Dark Lord sailed away, leaving Kreacher on the island."

Kreacher sniffed and wiped his running nose. "Kreacher needed water, he crawled to the island's edge and he drank from the black lake... and hands... dead, cold hands came out of the water and dragged Kreacher under the surface."

"Hands?" Padfoot asked sharply. "What hands?"

"Hands!" Kreacher sobbed. "Cold, dead hands!"

"Just hands?"

"People. Witches and wizards," Kreacher whispered, his eyes filmy.

"Inferi," Padfoot muttered, his mouth pulling down at the corners.

"What are Inferi?" Harry asked.

"Reanimated cor- Dead people who can walk and attack people." Harry's mouth fell open with revulsion. "Were they Inferi, Kreacher?" Padfoot pressed.

"Kreacher doesn't know. Kreacher never knew!"

"All right!" Padfoot said hastily. "How did you get away? Did you Apparate?"

Kreacher nodded his ugly head. "Master Regulus told Kreacher to come home, so Kreacher came home."

"What did Reg do?"

"Master Regulus was worried, very worried. He told Kreacher to hide and to stay in the house. One night, it was a little while later, Master Regulus came to visit Kreacher again. Master Regulus was disturbed in his mind, Kreacher could tell. Master Regulus told Kreacher to- to-" Kreacher sniffled and stopped talking.

"To what?" Padfoot asked.

"Kreacher promised. Kreacher promised Master Regulus... none of the family... Master... family."

Harry was confused but Padfoot seemed to understand. "Tell Harry," he told the elf. Padfoot caught Harry's eye. "If you're all right to hear the rest?"

Harry nodded. Padfoot left the room. "So...er... then what?"

Kreacher edged closer, his croaky voice coming almost silently. "Master Regulus told Kreacher to take him to the cave, the cave where Kreacher had gone with the Dark Lord. Krecher did and Master Regulus drank the potion... first he ordered Kreacher to swap the lockets and re-fill the basin... Master R-Regulus had a locket just the same as the Dark Lord's locket... and he told Kreacher the locket must be destroyed... made Kreacher promise..."

"Then Master Regulus drank it, drank it all and ordered Kreacher to leave... without him... to never tell Mistress... and Kreacher watched as Master Regulus was dragged... under the water... and... and..." Kreacher wailed and threw himself on the ground, fists pounding the carpet.

"Kreacher, sit up," Harry said. "What happened when you came home?"

"Mistress was sick with grief. Mistress didn't know why Master Regulus could never come home - all Mistress knew was that he wouldn't - because Kreacher had been f-f-forbidden, Kreacher had promised never to tell any of the family about what had happened in the c-cave." Both Kreacher and Harry turned to the locket at that point, where it was lying innocently on the floor by the rubbish bag.

"Kreacher tried to destroy the locket, Kreacher could feel its evil but nothing Kreacher did made any mark. Kreacher was sure the key to destroying the locket was to open the locket but nothing Kreacher did... so many powerful spells... Nothing worked... Kreacher _failed!_"

"It's all right," Harry said, quickly. "We won't throw the locket out, I promise, all right?" Kreacher halted mid-sob and glanced up. "Do you know why Regulus wanted to destroy the locket?"

"Kreacher doesn't know. Kreacher only knows Master Regulus wanted it destroyed. Kreacher _tried_!"

"I know!" Harry said, trying to calm him down. "You've er... done very well. I'll erm... maybe I can talk to Padfoot - to Master Sirius - and see if he can try to destroy it."

Kreacher threw himself on the floor at Harry's feet with a wail. Harry petted him awkwardly on the head until Padfoot came back and gently but firmly sent Kreacher to his cupboard to calm down.

When Kreacher was gone, Harry explained what had happened in the cave. Padfoot looked exceptionally grim, and when Harry finished, he sat down on the couch and massaged his temples.

"Does Kreacher know the name of the potion he drank?"

"I don't think so," Harry said. "Why?"

"I was hoping to find an antidote for it."

"For Kreacher? It's a bit late, isn't-"

"For me."

"For you-?" Harry blinked. "You aren't going to try it?"

"I want to know what Reg was doing stealing Voldemort's necklace," Padfoot said with a shrug.

"Maybe he thought it looked nice?"

"It's ugly though." They both glanced at the locket. "Obviously it's important. Kreacher says it feels evil, and I don't know whether you noticed, kiddo, but you shivered when you touched it."

"I did?"

Padfoot nodded grimly. "I didn't think anything of it, but now... Look, whatever it is, it's important enough for Reg to die for, and if Kreacher's tried to destroy it, there's obviously some fairly dark magic keeping it alive."

"It's alive?!" Harry yelped.

"Not alive like you or me, but it's not a blackened piece of metal yet, either, is it? It's not natural." One of the emeralds flashed as Harry titled his head.

"Why's it so important?" he asked, picking it up.

"Voldemort hid it in a cave, on an island guarded by Inferi, in the vilest potion he could find. Obviously he thought it was worth protecting... Reg knew why, but he'd never leave that sort of information lying around."

"But he did," Harry said slowly. "There was that book- the book with the Dementor's Draught page marked." Padfoot frowned. "I'll bet you anything that's the potion Kreacher drank. And the other book, the one that had the locket in it, remember? You wanted me to look for that ring."

Padfoot stood and walked out of the room. When he returned, he was holding a pile of books - Harry could only imagine how he'd found them, given the disorganised state of the library - that Harry remembered from the day they'd cleaned Regulus' room. Harry reached for the one with the locket in it and Padfoot flicked through the potions book until he found the Dementor's Draught.

"It doesn't say anything about the locket being evil," Harry said. "It only says it was Slytherin's."

"So it's had something done to it," Padfoot mused.

"Regulus might have left another clue," Harry said, "or maybe Kreacher-"

"If Reg was going to leave any hints, he'd have left them with everything else. He probably thought it was too dangerous."

"But he had all these lying around," Harry said, refusing to be discouraged. "He might-"

Padfoot shook his head. "Dementor's Draught isn't that unusual - it used to be used as a sedative in Azkaban before they brought actual Dementors in. Its use was outlawed in the early seventies because its effects are stronger than those of a normal Dementor, but lots of dark wizards used it in the war. And Regulus liked to read, so a book on old wizarding artefacts wouldn't have seemed unusual, and neither would these." Padfoot waved a hand at the books on warding and defensive magic.

Harry slumped. "So he'd have kept it quiet? Whatever the locket is? He didn't tell anyone?"

Padfoot shook his head slowly. "That's not... No, I don't think so." Padfoot stood up suddenly and started to pace. "From what Kreacher's said, I don't think Reg was ever planning to get out alive..." Harry shivered at that, trying to imagine what it would be like to knowingly walk to his own death. "Why else would he take Kreacher with him but not make him drink it? No, he had to know or at least think it was a possibility and he'd want someone to understand why he did it..."

"Who?"

Padfoot was quiet for a long time and then, "Voldemort."

"Very funny."

"No, really," Padfoot said, slowly. "Who else _could_ he tell? Anyone he trusted would be in danger and why would he tell someone he didn't trust?"

"But Voldemort? If that locket's as important as you think, Voldemort would have killed him as soon as he heard!"

Padfoot frowned. "Maybe he told him afterward - delayed the message somehow..."

"What d'you mean?"

"If you had a secret, an important one, and you had to share it, but couldn't tell anyone, how would you do it?"

"Write it down?" Harry said after a few moments. "Did he have a diary or something?"

"No. I... er... I used to take it and read it and eventually he just gave up. Even if he had, I doubt he'd want Voldemort reading it..." They both shivered. "How about a note? Somewhere safe, where only Voldemort would find it."

"And information on where to find the note's not too dangerous to leave lying around," Harry said. "Is it? He might have left something - another note, a photograph, _something_."

"I'm going to have a look around," Padfoot said, standing immediately. "We didn't throw anything out that was interesting or unusual so chances are it's around here somewhere. You might go through everything we've been sorting today, just to make sure."

Harry turned to the bag of things they'd removed from the cabinet and rifled through. Nothing seemed even remotely significant and he tossed everything back in, disappointed. He glanced at the locket.

"What are you?" he asked it. It disdained to respond. Curious, Harry decided to try looking at it magically - after his success yesterday, he'd been looking at all sorts of things from a magical point of view. "_Ostendere me omnia_," he whispered, and felt his vision shift. The room came to life around him - the tapestry on the wall glowed a pale green, the rubbish bag a mix of silver, blue and maroon. Harry could see his own red and gold sparks.

And then there was the locket. Black, like a shadow, but it wasn't as if light was blocked, it was as if it was sucking light in. Green and silver flickered inside the black, so faintly that it was hardly there, and never in the same spot for more than a second. Harry dropped it, his skin crawling. Kreacher was right, though he hadn't really doubted it. It _was_ evil. "_Finite_," he muttered and the magic vanished - it was still there, but not to his eyes.

"What _are_ you?" he asked again. The emeralds glinted wickedly. Harry picked it up again and held it rather gingerly at arm's length as he tried to pry it open again. It didn't work. Harry frowned. "Open," he told it, frustrated. "Open. _Open_." It did, and so did the door.


	12. Visitors

Harry jumped and looked at the doorway but Padfoot wasn't there. Frowning, he turned his attention back to the locket and dropped it in surprise. There was an eye in each window, dark and intelligent, watching him.

The eyes sent a strange, tingling sensation through his scar. Harry was frozen. The eye flashed and turned red and slitted, and then it spotted Harry. He watched and slowly drew his wand out of his pocket.

"_Don't try it_," the locket hissed.

"What?" Harry asked, shocked.

"_The best you can hope is to shoot sparks at me, boy, perhaps not even that_."

"_Petrificus Totalus!_" he said defiantly. Nothing happened.

"_I told you not to bother._" A moment later, Padfoot's head bloomed out of the locket and his body followed. He was too solid to be a ghost, and he wasn't transparent either. Harry was still reasonably new to the whole concept of magic, but he was fairly certain this was _not_ normal. "_You're weak," _Locket-Padfoot told him.

"I-what?" Harry said, puzzled.

"_Can't even defend yourself against a locket. I don't know why I even bother."_

"Bother with what?"

"_With you, idiot boy. I only took you in to keep a promise to your father. It's not worth it. I should have left you with your Aunt. I'd take Azkaban over this. At least there I didn't have to put up with children and house elves." _Harry frowned. "_Have I upset you, _kiddo?_ Let me guess, you miss your mother and father? I do too. And I actually knew them. Thanks to you, they're gone. You killed them. You're the reason they're dead."_

Harry shivered and his scar tingled again.

"Who are you?" he asked Locket-Padfoot.

"_I'm your godfather, Harry Potter_." Harry shivered again. Locket-Padfoot and opened his arms. "_Come here_," he said. Harry took a step backward. "_Harry, come here._" Harry shook his head. "_Harry, now_."

"No," Harry said, taking another step back.

"_I just want a hug,"_ Padfoot said smoothly.

"Padfoot!" Harry called over his shoulder.

"_Stop calling me! I'm right here!_"

If Locket-Padfoot didn't like it then Harry thought that was a very good reason to keep doing it. "Padfoot!"

"_Shut up!"_ Locket-Padfoot took a step toward Harry who threw another Body-Bind at him. The spell passed right through, as if it was smoke, though he looked far too solid for that. Locket-Padfoot reached for Harry, who dashed out of the door and slammed it shut. There was a thump on the other side. Harry put all of his weight against it, desperately trying to keep whatever it was contained. It thumped again, almost knocking him over. Another thump, and the door groaned. Footsteps. Harry tensed.

There was a loud - almost deafening - scream from the drawing room and then everything fell silent. Harry waited for a few seconds and peeked under the door. He couldn't see anything and it was still quiet so he tentatively took a step away. He waited and then when things were still quiet, pushed the door open.

The locket was sitting innocently in the middle of the drawing room floor, a few feet from where it should have been, and it was still open, the dark eyes watching his every move. He scratched his scar absentmindedly and took another step forward, wand still raised and then, suddenly, the locket snapped shut and all but blew the room apart. He was knocked off of his feet, back out onto the landing and lost track of things for a few moments.

Next thing he knew, Padfoot was leaning over him, face pale.

"Kiddo?" Harry's scar prickled and without thinking, he wrenched his arm free and rolled away, wand raised. "Harry? What's going on? I heard shouting and-"

"The locket," Harry said, rubbing his forehead. "I don't know how, or why, but it opened. You came out of it, you were talking to me, but it wasn't you..."

Both glanced into the drawing room, which had been destroyed. It was as if a bomb had gone off, but without the fire, if one didn't count the scorches on the walls from the burst lamps.

Things had been blown off the walls, the windows were shattered, as was the glass on the cabinets, the Black tapestry was lying in a crumpled heap on the floor, the couches had been overturned - one had a large hole in it, with stuffing pouring out - and the rubbish bag had exploded in a mass of paper, metal and little pieces of wood.

Glass crunched under Padfoot's trainers as he stepped into the room. He reached for the locket, swore loudly and then retracted his hand.

"What?" Harry asked, stumbling forward, wand raised.

"It's hot." Padfoot prodded the locket with his own wand and it floated off the ground to sit in the air between them. "What exactly were you doing?" he asked, examining the locket with narrowed eyes. It was unharmed.

"I don't know! I was just trying to open it."

"How?"

"I don't know!" Harry cried again. "I was pulling it but it wouldn't open so I got frustrated and _told_ it to open and inside- inside-" His eyes widened. "The note! Regulus' note!"

"You found it?" Padfoot asked, eyes wide.

"No- Yes- Maybe-"

"Harry, you aren't making any sense."

Everything seemed to be making perfect sense to Harry, though. "What if the note's in the fake locket?"

"Of course," Padfoot breathed.

"If it was just about taking the locket," Harry said, saying the words as they popped into his head, "he wouldn't have bothered with the switch. He _wanted_ Voldemort to find it."

"We'll have to go," Padfoot said.

"Go?"

"To the cave. Maybe Voldemort hasn't found the note yet-"

"It's been nine years," Harry said doubtfully.

"Yes, but he's been dead for most of them."

"But... if it's that important-"

"He wouldn't want to draw attention to it," Padfoot said. "If he'd gone skulking off to a cave in the middle of nowhere every few weeks, someone would have noticed. Even Death Eaters aren't _that_ thick. And, even if he_did _check on it, who's to say he opened it? Even if there's just a word or two in there... something to go on. It'll be worth it."

"And if there's not? What if he's already been there and read it?"

"There's no way of knowing without being there," Padfoot said. "There's got to be a way of seeing if the locket's there before drinking the Dementor's Draught. If we do that and the locket's not there, we can leave again without disturbing anything."

"And if it is?"

Padfoot smiled grimly. "I spent seven years living with Dementors," he said. "I can handle it. Besides, Kreacher's been a few times now, and we've got all of Reg's old things... It's not like we're unprepared."

"We? I can go?" Harry asked, unable to believe his ears.

"Personally, I'd rather you stay here," Padfoot said. "But..."

"But what?"

Padfoot brushed Harry's fringe aside, revealing his scar. "But," he sighed, "you've probably got more of a right to be there than _I_ do."

"So I can go?" Harry repeated, stunned.

"There'll be rules," Padfoot warned. "You'll stay on the shore. You won't be allowed to come with me on the boat, or to the island." Harry opened his mouth to protest but Padfoot's expression said he wasn't open to negotiation and that was rare enough that Harry shut his mouth again and nodded. "You'll learn the spells I think you'll need."

"What spells?"

"I'll write a list," Padfoot said. "And lastly, if things go badly, like they did for Reg and Kreacher, and I tell you to get the hell out, you'll listen."

"And what, leave you there?"

"If it comes to it," Padfoot said, his expression unwavering.

"But-"

"Harry, if you can't handle it, you won't be going," Padfoot said. Slowly, Harry nodded. "Lovely," Padfoot said, clapping his hands together as if Harry'd agreed to wash the dishes instead of leaving him to die. The mood lightened so abruptly Harry felt a little startled. "Now, help me clean this mess up."

They spent the rest of the afternoon fixing the drawing room and setting up a safe place for the locket. In the end, Padfoot restored one of the drawing room cabinets and sent Harry to comb the rest of the house for other things they could put in there so the locket wouldn't stand out as much.

After that was done, Padfoot cast a number of spells on the cabinet to keep the locket safe; there was an Alarm Spell which would ring if anyone touched the cabinet, a Shield Charm to protect the cabinet or its contents from being damaged, a Permanent Sticking Charm on the cabinet's feet to stop it from being bumped, moved or stolen, a complex Locking Charm on the door of the cabinet, and an Attention-Diversion Charm on the cabinet to make it seem insignificant.

Even so, Harry didn't like it and was very much looking forward to finding out what it was and how to destroy it.

* * *

Two days later, Harry was in the library, poring over Regulus' old copy of _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade One - _Padfoot's, Harry had learned, had been destroyed three days into his first year in an incident involving fireworks and James' owl, and his parents had refused to buy him another one - when Padfoot came in. He sat down across from Harry and fixed him with an unyielding grey stare.

"Are you all right?" Harry asked.

"Well enough," Padfoot said with a sigh. "Are you sure you want to come with me to this cave?"

Harry hesitated for a moment and then nodded. "Positive."

Padfoot sighed again, seeming unsurprised and pulled a scrap of parchment out of his robes. "Before you're coming anywhere, you need to know all of this," he said. "All right?"

Harry glanced over what was actually quite a comprehensive list:

- _Fire-Making Spells_

_- Light Charm_

_- Severing Charm_

_- Stickfast Hex_

_- Body-Binds_

_- Trip Jinx_

_- Apparition_

"All of it?" Harry asked, his eyebrows shooting up. "I have to be able to Apparate?" Padfoot fixed him with a steady look and Harry sagged into his seat. "I was just checking."

"Some of it you might be able to learn on your own," Padfoot said. "Some, like the Light charm and the Body-Binds, you already know." Harry cheered slightly at that thought, but knew Apparition was going to be the hardest thing. He still struggled with the non-verbal magic-seeing incantation, for Merlin's sake! "The rest I'll teach you. Any questions?" Harry shook his head.

"Excellent. And," Padfoot said, "let's agree now that neither of us are going to get worked up over this. We'll go when we're ready, not before." Harry nodded, privately thinking that could be years from now if Padfoot didn't change his mind about the list.

"I don't want you missing sleep over this, or getting stressed. That goes for me too. If I seem worried - and that might just be because we've got the entire Ministry looking for us - feel free to give my nose a swat or hex me or something. And, if at any point you feel like you can't handle what we've got to do, you let me know. Deal?" Padfoot held out his hand.

Harry shook it. "Deal."

"Brilliant." Padfoot got up, browsed the library for a bit - all the while grumbling about the lack of organisation of the shelves - and then selected a heavy book called, _When The Dead Walk._

He shuddered at the picture on the cover and opened it, scanning the contents with a frown. Harry closed his book and shifted closer to his godfather so that he could read too. Padfoot flicked through until he found the page he was looking for and then pushed the book between them.

_Inferi are corpses, reanimated to perform a sorcerer's bidding. Unlike Zombies, they have no ability to think for themselves, though they share the same rotting, grey skin, the same inability to articulate correctly and the same mainly-human appearance. Inferi are territorial and so make excellent guards, with the only person that is truly safe from them being their creator. _

_They are aggressive if provoked but are often selective with their victims, choosing to attack the highest perceived threat first. They are also resistant to many spells, curses and hexes due to their rotted nerve endings. Inferi are considered nocturnal and so will rarely be seen during day hours; sunlight along with fire is one of the few things able to hinder these humanoid creatures._

Below was a particularly graphic - moving - photograph of a witch being attacked by a tall Inferius. Harry shuddered, feeling sick, and even Padfoot looked revolted. The passage continued on but the Harry didn't understand what it was saying so he gave up on that and returned tohis book.

He flicked to the index and searched for Fire-Making spells. There was an entire chapter on elemental magic and while water, plant and ice magic wasn't going to be terribly useful, Harry thought wind magic would certainly be worth knowing, and so would fire. He read for at least an hour on the theory and then left to go and practice in the drawing room fireplace since the library one was already lit.

Making fire, as Harry quickly learnt, was remarkably easy, but controlling it was not. Padfoot managed to save the drawing room couches and Harry agreed rather sheepishly, that he'd use the training room in the future. A little surprisingly - or maybe not, given what Padfoot had done in his own childhood - he wasn't at all mad.

"Just disappointed," Padfoot said, examining the slightly scorched curtains. Harry felt like his stomach was in his feet. He'd have much preferred anger. "Next time you want to set something on fire," he said sternly, "at least _try_ to get that sodding tapestry."

Harry blinked and then a little disbelieving laugh slipped out of his mouth. Padfoot winked, ruffled his hair and headed back upstairs to the library, leaving Harry staring after him.

* * *

"Wotcher, Lupin," a cheerful voice said.

Remus turned, smiling. "Hello, Nymphadora- sorry, Tonks."

"Much better," she said, her hair returning to the purple it was today. She hesitated and then said, "I read in the _Prophet_ you found Harry Potter."

_He's alive, he's alive, he's alive_... Those two words had been a constant mantra in his head ever since that day in London. "And that he escaped?" Remus asked ruefully.

"Yes, that too. It's true then?" Remus nodded, his good mood fading somewhat. "Poor kid."

"If the Ministry had been there five minutes sooner we would have had them both," Remus sighed. He was still incredibly annoyed over that and though he tried to keep it out of his voice, it still came through.

Nymphadora gave him a sly look. "Is that why you hit that Auror?"

Remus glanced at her sideways and smiled slightly. "It's remarkable how many people know about that." And it was, considering the _Prophet_ hadn't published that part of the story.

"Dad's with the Ministry," she said, shrugging. "Muggle Relations. He was one of the first people there after they took you."

"I see."

"Are you still volunteering, or are you not allowed to?"

"No, I'm still searching but Lucius Malfoy's becoming harder and harder to take orders from." He had begun to refuse letting Remus onto the Manor grounds and if Remus asked why, always responded with a smooth comment about not wanting a broken nose like poor Rufus Scrimgeour. They'd been conducting their meetings through the Manor gates, lately.

"I've met him a few times - he's my uncle, did you know?" Remus, who did know this, nodded. "Utter bastard and my aunt's a snob, or at least I think so. Mum doesn't seem to know what to think and Dad's smart enough to keep his thoughts to himself." Remus smiled slightly.

"Tonks!"

Nymphadora and Remus spun to face a boy in Slytherin robes. Remus' hand closed around his wand, just in case, but she didn't seem at all worried. "Wotcher, Tom!" she said brightly.

"Hi- Who're you?" he asked, spotting Remus. He seemed to be deciding whether to reach for his own wand.

"This is Remus Lupin," Nymphadora said quickly, apparently noticing Tom's wariness.

Surprisingly, he didn't ask anything more than that; Remus supposed he trusted Nymphadora's judgement, and thought, maybe, House rivalry might have died down a little... Or perhaps Tom was just an exception. "Have you seen Weasley?"

"Which one?" Nymphadora asked, looking mischievous.

Tom scowled. "Not Joseph. Why anyone would look for that git is beyond me." Nymphadora made a sound that Remus took to mean she agreed.

"You mean Roger?" she asked with eyes just wide enough to make Remus think she was up to something. Tom made an annoyed noise which confirmed his theory. "No? Well, let's try the cousins then... Percy?"

"Charlie," Tom sighed.

"Oh! You wanted _our _Weasley." Tom pursed his lips. "He's with the girls," Nymphadora said. "Not sure where."

"Very helpful," Tom muttered, rolling his eyes. "Thank you... Nymphadora," he said, and took off without another word.

"Durban!" Nymphadora shouted. Tom threw a grin at her over his shoulder and kept running. "Slytherins!" she huffed.

"You're welcome to go after him," Remus said, beginning to walk again.

"I'll get him later," she said, shrugging.

"All right," he said, continuing forward. Nymphadora made a funny noise, as if to point out that Remus was walking toward a wall and then decided against it.

"Are you here to see Dumbledore?" she asked instead.

"Yes, I am," he said, lifting a tapestry that concealed a staircase that would take him up two floors. Dumbledore's office moved every year - Remus suspected it was to keep students and teachers alike on their toes - and this year, it was on the third floor.

"I never knew that was there," she said, her dark eyes widening. She followed him through, expression curious, but she stumbled on the step. She jumped right back up again, her hair a very pale pink, before Remus could even offer to help. "I'm horrendously clumsy," she sighed. "It's all my mother's fault." She glanced around with interest. "Where does this come out?"

"Third floor. By that suit of armour that swears at everyone," Remus said.

Nymphadora laughed. "Charlie learned everything he knows from that."

"He can thank James and Sirius," Remus said, smiling slightly. "They taught Rudy everything."

"Sirius... as in... Black?" Nymphadora asked hesitantly.

"Yes," Remus said bitterly.

"And James... not James Potter?" she asked.

"Yes, another of my friends," Remus said, smiling now.

"I think I remember him," she said thoughtfully. "He's Harry Potter's father?"

"Yes."

She nodded thoughtfully. "And Rudy?" she asked.

"It's self explanatory, really," Remus said, lips twitching.

"I don't... Rudy...?"

"Because he's rude," Remus said. He twisted his mouth. "Sirius has always had something of a fascination with name puns."

"He'd probably have a field day with mine," she said darkly. "Not that I'm ever intending to meet Mum's cousin, but still..."

"He used to say you were an 'adorable' child," Remus said, remembering suddenly.

Her mouth dropped open and her hair turned a bright, sunny yellow as she laughed. "Dora... adorable... That's awful!" she cried.

"It is. But when your own name's Sirius..."

"What was your pun?" she asked.

"I didn't have one like 'adorable' but he made up a rhyme at some point in first year." She watched him expectantly until he gave in with a sigh. "Loony, loopy, Lupin."

Nymphadora laughed. "That's one of Peeves' favourites!"

Somehow, that didn't surprise Remus. "James gets credit for that," he said, grinning despite himself. "James' pun had something to do with 'pottering' around - if he was walking too slowly, for example," he added, forestalling her next question. That joke had stopped in sixth year when James decided it might hurt his chances with Lily, but it had been earned a place in Sirius' speech at James' wedding.

"The three of you sound so funny," she said, smiling. Her mouth twisted a little. "Even Black."

"There were four of us, actually. Peter Pettigrew was our friend as well."

"The boy- man that Black...?"

"Yes," Remus said quietly.

"I'm sorry," Nymphadora said.

"It was years ago," Remus said. _Although it feels like it was yesterday._

Remus pushed a place on the seemingly solid wall in front of them and it slid open. "What the fuck are you doing there?!" Rudy demanded, his armour creaking. "Don't you sodding ignore me, you bastard! I asked what the fuck you were doing!" He shook his shield at them. "And you, slag! Come bloody back and look at me when I'm bloody speaking!"

"It seemed funny back then," Remus muttered as they rounded a corner, "but he's hardly setting a good example for the first years."

"He's made someone cry every year I've been here," Nymphadora said cheerfully. "And he bothers Filch terribly but Dumbledore says he's a part of school history and all that..."

Remus shook his head, unsurprised. "So how's school?" He'd last seen her in early April, but now, N.E.W.T.s were imminent, if they weren't already happening; he remembered the first week of June as an extremely stressful one.

"I had my Potions exam yesterday," she said, smiling. "I think that went well enough; it was free choice on what we brewed so I did stages one to four of the Wolfsbane Potion. I was going to do one to four of Veritaserum but three people in my class chose that, so I went for something a little different."

"Impressive," Remus said faintly. "I-I've heard it's rather complex."

"It's not too bad," she said thoughtfully. "Stage five is probably the hardest and I didn't have to do that."

Remus managed to swallow. "What's next as far as exams go?"

"Charms tomorrow," she said. "Transfiguration the day after – which is easy, thank Merlin! - then Defence and Herbology on Friday."

"So you're just revising today?"

"Procrastinating, really," she sighed, waving a hand at Remus. "I told Alfred I'd meet him in the library straight after breakfast to go over Charms but here I am, talking to you."

"Tell Alfred I'm sorry," Remus said apologetically.

"He won't even notice. He's mooning after Jaquiline Gamp but everyone knows _she_ fancies Pius Thicknesse."

"I see," Remus said, having no clue who any of these people were.

"Honestly, I think it's ridiculous, fussing over who fancies who like we're eleven again." She threw her hands up in the air and her hair turned an odd shade – like a mix between green and orange. "If someone likes someone, they should just come out and say it."

"Blunt," Remus observed.

"I want to be an Auror, not a politician," she said with a shrug.

"Are you sure?" Remus asked, grinning. "You seem to have some fairly strong opinions."

"Positive," she said with a shudder. "And I don't think that I have 'strong opinions'. I just think that people should act their age."

"You act far older than seventeen," Remus said.

"No, I don't," she said, her hair turning pink. "It just seems like it because everyone else is busy acting like first years."

Remus disagreed, but couldn't be bothered trying to argue, since they'd reached the stone gargoyle that was the entrance to Dumbledore's office. "Lupin," the gargoyle said. "Password?"

"You're on first name terms with Dumbledore's gargoyle?" Nymphadora asked, impressed.

"Don't ask," Remus said, flushing slightly. "It has a lot more to do with James and Sirius than it does with me."

"I remember Potter and Black! Say hi to them for me, would you?" the gargoyle said.

"Er..." Remus said, his eyes darting to Nymphadora's uncomfortable expression. "Sure."

"I'll see you later," Nymphadora said holding out her hand. Remus shook it, giving her a warm smile - and tried to ignore the way her eyes widened as she took in his scars, though thankfully she didn't comment - and then she set off down the corridor, tripping a little on the hem of her robes.

"Do I have to wait for you all day?" the gargoyle complained.

"No, sorry. Lemon Drop."

"Kept me waiting for nothing. And here I was thinking you didn't know the password..."

"You'd have let me in anyway."

The gargoyle winked and leapt aside. The wall behind it parted, revealing an extremely familiar stone staircase. Remus stepped on, and a moment later found himself standing outside Dumbledore's office door.

He reached for the brass knocker but a deep voice called, "Come in!" before he had a chance to touch it.

Shaking his head, Remus stepped into the office. "Good morning, sir," he said, shutting the door.

"Ah, Remus! I thought perhaps you'd got lost!"

"No, just distracted."

Dumbledore chuckled. "Have a seat, dear boy." Remus conjured himself an armchair and sat. "Would you care for a sweet?"

"No, thank you. I just had breakfast."

* * *

"Draco," Mother said mildly.

Draco stopped playing with the buttons on his waistcoat at once. "Sorry, Mother," he said, letting his hand fall to his side.

She gave him a gentle smile. "Do make an effort tonight."

"I will," he said, waiting until she turned away to grimace.

"Draco, I mean it," she warned, turning back to him. "I don't want a repeat of last time. I couldn't look Audra Crabbe in the eye for weeks."

"It was one pudding," he protested weakly. "I didn't even _mean_ to blow it u-" Mother caught and held his gaze. "Yes, Mother," he said, picking at his silver-embroidered waistcoat. "I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

"I should think not," she said coolly.

"Now, now, Narcissa," Father said, striding into the drawing room. He was dressed similarly to Draco, in black trousers, a black waistcoat embroidered with silver and long black robes. Hydrus walked in after him, dressed in an identical garb to Draco's, but green instead, like Mother's dress robes. "Accidents happen to the best of us." His eyes met Draco's identical ones. "Isn't that right, son?"

"Yes, Father," Draco said, relieved. "I promise it won't happen again."

"Speaking of promises, Father, I know Bosworth will behave," Hydrus whined, petting the rat who was in its usual place on his shoulder.

"I've said no," Father said crossly. "Take him upstairs and leave him there." Hydrus let out a loud, angry noise and stomped back upstairs. "Go and fix your hair," Father told Draco.

"Yes, Father," Draco muttered and fled. He walked quickly - not daring to run but Father was in a bad mood - out of the drawing room, down the corridor to the foyer and then up the large staircase, down another long hallway and into his bedroom. He crossed the room, ignoring Roquefort's squeaks from inside his cage, and ducked into his bathroom.

His reflection stared back; a thin face with a pointed chin and his father's grey eyes. His father's face, just like Aunt Bella had said during their last visit, though not quite as blank. _I'm getting better at it, though,_ he thought proudly. _Better than Hydrus, anyway._

He reached for the little silver pot on the marble bench-top and scooped up a lump of gel. "Bit much, isn't it?" his mirror asked.

"No," Draco snapped, sleeking a loose hair into place. When he was finished, he looked just like the photographs he'd seen of his father at a young age. Even his expression matched; calm and content, if a little bored. _Good, now- _CRACK! "Dobby!" Draco gasped, jumping away from the little elf. "Don't _do_ that!"

"Dobby is sorry, young Master," the elf squeaked, sinking into a hasty bow that made his ears flap, "but Master is sending Dobby to be getting young Master and is telling him to be quick, sir."

"I'm going as fast as I can," Draco said, annoyed.

"Master is saying now, young Master," Dobby said, his huge, green eyes wide as he wrung his filthy pillowcase.

"All right," Draco snapped. He grabbed the elf's skinny forearm and his bathroom spun, distorted and then disappeared altogether to be replaced by the drawing room. Draco stumbled, gasping for air, but a strong hand on the back of his robes didn't let him fall. Dobby vanished again.

"And you remember my youngest; Draco," Father said, squeezing his shoulder to the point that it was painful. Draco blinked, his vision readjusting.

"Yes, but not so young anymore; happy birthday, Draco," fat, old Roderick Crabbe said, scratching his pointed beard.

"Thank you," Draco said politely; he wasn't supposed to add a 'sir' when he was talking to the Crabbes or Goyles because they weren't purebloods, although they liked to claim otherwise.

Audra nodded. "He was responsible for the pudding incident, was he not?" Draco's cheeks burned but his father's hand wouldn't let him move an inch.

Mother laughed loudly. It was a high, tinkling sound, like ice shattering. "I'd forgotten about that," she said bestowing Audra with a smile. The other woman returned it before her attention was claimed by two-year-old Cyril. Mother shot Draco a pointed, though not angry, look.

"Do you remember my Vincent, Draco?" Roderick asked.

"Yes," Draco said, casting a wary glance over at his brother and the stout boy with a pudding-bowl haircut. They'd met a number of times in the past; Draco wasn't terribly fond of the larger boy but he'd always gravitated toward Hydrus so it wasn't an issue.

The fireplace flared green and tall, square-jawed Ernest Parkinson stepped out, followed by his thin, sickly-looking wife Sonja and his daughter Pansy who had dark hair like her father, big brown eyes like her mother and a button nose that came from neither parent.

They'd just finished greetings when the Greengrasses arrived; rotund, little Marius, his beautiful wife Parmenia and their daughters; Daphne was the eldest - the same age as Draco - blond with a long face and her twin sisters Astoria and Vivienne who were a year younger.

They both had dark hair but the similarities ended there; Astoria was tiny in height and build while Vivienne was taller - almost as tall as Daphne - with blue eyes quite unlike Astoria's hazel.

The Notts arrived shortly after; old, silver-haired Leopold, young, brunette Eleanor and her daughter Catherine. Theodore wasn't Eleanor's son - his mother had died a few days after he was born - but he was there too; he was a lanky boy with an overbite who was a few months older than Draco.

Everyone wished him a happy birthday with varying degrees of sincerity and Draco nodded politely and thanked them all accordingly. The Gamps - the biggest pure-blood family aside from perhaps the Weasleys - weren't coming for which Draco was grateful; where the Weasleys had sons, the Gamps had daughters and they were giggly and annoying and Draco didn't want them at his birthday dinner.

Hamish was the only male Gamp and he was older than Draco and preferred his sisters' and cousins' company. Last were the Goyles - who had never been on time as long as Draco had known them.

The Bulstrodes weren't going to be there either, but that was okay because Millicent terrified Draco; she was big enough to eat him if she wanted to, but she was also much smarter than people assumed. She'd told him she was more Slytherin than he was, and Draco, in anger, had accidentally blown up his pudding. The worst part was he thought she might be right, even if neither of her parents had been Death Eaters like Father.

"Terribly sorry, Lucius," Aloysius said, stepping out of the fire. He was a thin man, cleanly shaven and with little hair left on his head. "Clementina's running late again. How are you, Roderick, Ernest, Leopold?" There was a general murmur of 'good'. "Oh! And Marius! How are you? I didn't see you there."

"I'm well, thank you, Aloysius," Marius said, bowing his head.

"Mother's on her way," tall, solid Gregory grunted as he clambered out of the fireplace. "Happy birthday," he said to Hydrus.

"It's not my birthday," Hydrus said, rolling his eyes. "It's Draco's."

"Happy birthday," Gregory said, turning to Draco, who simply nodded.

Aloysius watched his son with a grimace. "Shall we adjourn to the dining room? Clementina will find her way there, I'm sure."

Everyone held their breath. "You would do well to remember that this is _my_ house," Father said dangerously, "and therefore my place - and not yours, Aloysius - to make such statements." The room had gone deadly quiet. Aloysius opened his mouth to say something but Gregory shook his head once, and then he shut it. "Shall we adjourn to the dining room?" Father asked silkily.

"Yes," Parmenia said with a gracious smile that diffused the tension. "Come, Marius, girls."

"Hydrus, lead the way," Mother said with a strained smile.

"Yes, Mother," Hydrus said with a charming smile.

"Draco, see that Dobby's keeping to schedule."

"Yes, Mother." Draco ducked out the right side door while everyone else went left. He walked down the dim hallway and down the cellar stairs. He entered the cellar - Draco didn't think he'd ever known it to hold wine, though - and headed through the adjacent door quickly, not wanting to linger since there was something about the cellar that he'd never liked; it was always very cold down there, and it was always darker than anywhere else in the Manor. He walked - because Malfoys didn't run, Father had said - down another corridor and then through another door into the kitchen.

"Young Master!" Dobby exclaimed bowing, as Draco perched on the edge of the worn wooden table in the centre of the room.

"Mother said to ask if you're on schedule," Draco said, sniffing curiously at the room; the oven was glowing orange and he could smell fresh bread, potato and meat. There was a pot of something delicious simmering on the stove and a set of knives were slicing carrots, tomatoes, lettuce, cucumber and the like on the bench.

"Mistress could have called Dobby," Dobby said, shaking his head. "Young Master shouldn't have tired himself. Dobby knows how the young Master doesn't like the cellar."

"I'm not scared of the cellar," Draco growled.

The little elf patted his knee tentatively before tottering over to check the soup. "Young Master can tell Mistress Dobby will be ready in time, sir," Dobby squeaked, clicking his fingers to send the vegetable knives into the sink (which was currently filling with soapy water).

"Good. And get rid of the tomatoes. I don't eat them." Dobby made a little sobbing noise and hurried over to the chopping board.

Draco was able to slip into the dining room unnoticed, just like a good host should. The only person who seemed to realise he was there at all was Hydrus, who rolled his eyes and went back to his spiel about broomsticks. Theodore seemed genuinely interested but neither Vincent or Gregory seemed to have much idea what was going on. Draco went and sat in the empty seat between his brother and Daphne.

"We've both got Comet two-sixties," Hydrus boasted, glancing around at the other children. "Father wants us ready for the house team."

"At Hogwarts?" Gregory asked, frowning.

"Of course at Hogwarts, you idiot!" Draco said.

"Or Durmstrang," Hydrus said. "Father's still trying to talk Mother into it." Draco was quietly certain that in this, Father wouldn't succeed. Mother didn't often argue with him, but when she did, she won.

"I didn't think first years were allowed on the house teams," Theodore said tentatively.

"They are at Durmstrang," Hydrus said.

"Everything's allowed at Durmstrang," Daphne said, rolling her eyes.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Draco asked.

"Just that Karkaroff is more relaxed than Dumbledore is," Daphne said, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

"Are you really going to Durmstrang?" Pansy asked unhappily, staring from Draco to Hydrus.

Draco shrugged. "Wherever we go, we'll be playing Quidditch."

"Clarice says first years aren't allowed broomsticks," Astoria said primly.

Hydrus snorted. "Father's very influential at the school. If we do go to Hogwarts, he'll apply for a position on the Board of Governors."

"Can he do that?" Theodore asked, looking awed.

"Of course," Draco said, waving a hand. "All this business with Harry Potter's put him in Dumbledore's good books. I bet I'll have a place on the team before I've even unpacked my broomstick. And who's Clarice?" Pansy rolled her eyes and started up a different conversation with Hydrus.

"Our step-sister," Daphne said proudly. "She and Bertram were from Mother's first marriage." Draco sneaked a glance at Parmenia Greengrass, who was tracing the back of her husband's hand while she laughed at a joke Clementina was telling. "How old are they?"

"They'll be fourteen in on the twenty-fifth of June," Astoria chirped from beside her sister. "Clarice is going to be an Unspeakable and Bertram's going to be a professional Quidditch player."

"What position?"

"Chaser," said Vivienne. "And if he doesn't get in, he'll be a reporter for the _Daily Prophet._"

"Perhaps he'll work with Father on the Harry Potter search," Draco said.

Vivienne glanced at Father and frowned. "Perhaps," she said.

"Are they going to find him do you think?" Astoria asked looking nervous. "They say he's dead."

"Who, Harry Potter? The _Prophet_ says he's dead," Draco said, rolling his eyes. "Shows how much they know. I don't think he's dead, and neither does Father."

"Mother and Father say he's powerful," Daphne whispered. Vivienne nodded.

"He is," Draco said. "Father thinks he'll be the next Dark Lord."

"Is that why Sirius Black took him?" Daphne asked.

Draco shrugged, fairly sure that he wasn't supposed to know as much about Sirius Black as he did. "Do I look like Sirius Black or Harry Potter to you?" he asked instead.

"No," Daphne said.

"Then why in Merlin's name would I know?" he asked coldly.

"There's no need to be rude about it," Astoria said, folding her arms. "She was just asking."

Draco ignored her. "What makes you think I'd know?" he asked again.

"Well, your father's involved," Daphne said condescendingly. "Anyone with the intelligence of a Mountain Troll might think you knew _something_."

"Well, I don't," Draco said, using his frosty voice to mask his lie.

"Oi! Greengrass."

All three girls turned around. "Which one?" Astoria asked.

"Daphne. You're hoping for Slytherin, right?" Hydrus asked.

She shrugged. "Either Slytherin or Ravenclaw."

"Told you," Theodore muttered.

"How did you know?" Vivienne asked, sounding interested.

He shrank under everyone's scrutiny. "It's not hard- Everyone here wants that."

"I don't want to be in Ravenclaw," Hydrus drawled.

Draco nodded. "I want Slytherin."

"There's nothing wrong with Ravenclaw," Vivienne said, and Astoria nodded angrily from the chair beside her. "Mother thinks I'll be a Ravenclaw."

"And I suppose you're looking to go there too?" Pansy asked Astoria, looking mildly revolted. She'd never liked the twins much.

"I won't be in Gryffindor or Hufflepuff," Astoria said coolly. "I'd be happy with either of the others. You're thinking Slytherin, aren't you, Theordore?"

"Yes," Theodore said and then hesitated and added, "but Ravenclaw's not a bad alternative." The twins beamed. Draco rolled his eyes; if Father had seen _him_ doing that, he'd have been subjected to lessons on how to control his facial expressions. Clearly the Greengrass family weren't as proper as they'd used to be. "Vincent, Gregory?"

"Slytherin," both grunted.

"Me too," Pansy said loudly, not wanting to be forgotten. "Mother was a Ravenclaw but I'd _hate_ to be put there," she said with a nasty glance at Astoria and Vivienne. "Ravenclaws are weak." All three Greengrass girls and Theodore made noises of disagreement. "They are," Pansy said, watching her mother with narrowed eyes; Sonja Parkinson had just returned from the bathroom looking paler than usual and a little clammy. "They're weak." The others exchanged glances - Pansy's mother was sick and there was nothing the Healers could do for her - and stayed silent.

"Well," Daphne said with a cautious glance at Pansy, "I suppose this little group will be sticking together. That's nice, isn't it?"

"'That's nice, isn't it?'" Draco drawled, mimicking her. "Are you sure you're not angling for Hufflepuff, Greengrass?"

The others - except for Daphne, who blushed - laughed. Draco leaned back in his chair, smug and completely content.


	13. Heading Home

Charlie leaned forward so that he could see around Alison Pemberly's head; she'd played chess and then Exploding Snap with them until about an hour ago and then she'd gone unnaturally quiet and turned toward the window.

Dawn Carter, the soon-to-be-former Head Girl had been unabashedly sobbing for the last half hour, much to the amusement of everyone in the compartment, though the ribbing had been more subdued than in previous years; even Tom Durban - a Slytherin - had only made a few jibes before shuffling over to put an arm around her.

Charlie glanced at the buildings which were becoming more and more frequent and then settled back into his seat again, scratching Canis' ears for good measure. Tonks' little cat purred and leaned into the touch and Tonks herself peered over the top of the book she was reading and glared at them both. The cat stopped purring immediately and glared back until Tonks hid behind her book again.

Charlie, determined to make the most of his remaining time on the train, pulled out his sketchbook and - with a few pats as coercion - was able to rest it on Canis. He flicked through to his half-finished dragon and - once he'd located his stick of charcoal - added another line that would form the basic structure of the dragon's wing.

He frowned and added another line and then moved the book back a little. He muttered a quick spell to siphon the charcoal off and tried again. After the third repeat of this, Tonks huffed noisily and yanked the book out of his grip. Canis made a swipe for her hand but missed.

"Oi!"

"This looks fine to me," she said, examining the sketch.

"Hold it up," Charlie said. She did. He stared at it with narrowed eyes and then nodded. "That's actually not bad," he said,

"For a Gryffindor," Tom drawled.

Charlie grinned. "You should put your reading glasses on, Durban. If you could see it properly, you might appreciate it for the work of art it really is." Tom chuckled.

"Oh, so now you like it?" Tonks muttered. Charlie winked at her and tugged the sketchbook from her hands. He added spines down the dragon's back and along it tail and was just shading the wing membranes when Dawn let out a particularly loud sob and the train slowed noticeably.

Tonks stuffed her book into her trunk and pulled it down from the luggage rack - almost knocking Alison's head off in the process - and snatched Canis off of Charlie's lap. Before the little cat could even realise it was his despised owner that was holding him, Tonks had stuffed him into his wicker basket and shut the lid. A furious hissing came from inside but she latched it without any trouble.

By the time the train had come to a complete stop, everyone's things were down, making for very little leg-room and Dawn and Alison actually climbed over Tom's trunk to reach Tonks. Tonks looked surprised; the only time she and the other girls had ever spent much time together was in the library, studying, or on train rides, like this, but she accepted the hugs with a bemused smile and the girls hugged Charlie, waved at Tom and then went on their ways.

Tonks and Charlie were the last to leave because Charlie knew she'd have no hope of navigating the train until most of the students were on the platform.

"That's it," Tonks said with a sad little smile as she and Charlie hopped off the train.

"Not for me," Charlie said, passing Canis' basket down to her. It hissed as Tonks grabbed it and she poked her tongue out at it. "I'll come to see Perce and the twins off next year and then Ron two years later and Ginny the year after that."

"Not if you go dragon-taming," she said with a smile. "Norway, isn't it?"

"Romania," he said. "And that's a big if. Bill had to fight for days to let Mum let him go to _London_."

"London and Romania aren't that different," Tonks said thoughtfully. Charlie gave her a disbelieving look. "They're not. I don't think it matters where you are, it's the fact that you're not home."

"Maybe," Charlie said, not quite convinced. He reached out and caught Tonks as she stumbled over a first year. Canis hissed again from his basket.

"Sorry," she called cheerfully as the boy flushed and hid behind his parents. Charlie laughed. "Oh, shut up."

"Nymphadora! Hey, Nymp-"

"Call me 'Nymphadora' one more time..." Tonks muttered, spinning around. Her blue hair turned purple and then red. She sighed when she spotted Booth and Williams fighting through the crowd to get to them and her hair went back to blue.

"So they get away with calling you by your first name?" Charlie asked, playfully indignant.

"They're Hufflepuffs," she muttered. "They're too polite to know better." She tugged his Gryffindor scarf, tripped on her own feet and nearly strangled him with it. Charlie gasped. "Gryffindors," she said recovering, "on the other hand, do it for the thrill."

"Thrill?"

"Oh, come on, there's always a very good chance you'll get an earful or a hex. How many detentions did I get this year?"

"Less than in previous years," Charlie said.

"Still considerably more than you," she said, proudly. "Wotcher," she added as Booth and Williams appeared beside her.

"Hi, Nymph- er- Tonks, sorry," Williams said.

"Hi," Booth said.

"Weasley," Williams added. Charlie supposed these two were to him what Dawn and Alison were to Tonks; friends of hers and therefore friends of his, but only really by association.

"Hey."

"Charlie! Charlie - oh, sorry, Ron - Charlie, over here!" Charlie could see Mum and the rest of the family - minus Dad and Bill - waving frantically from beside a pillar.

"That's me," Charlie said, grinning. He waved back to let Mum know he'd seen them, gave Tonks a quick hug and nodded at Booth and Williams. "I'll see you all later."

"Make sure you remember to write!" Tonks said at once. "If you don't, I'll write to Tom and make him make you write back!"

"Tom won't write," Charlie laughed. "When's he ever answered a letter?"

"Even more reason for you to write. Between the pair of you-" Tom wanted to be a dragon Healer and would probably go to Romania with Charlie. Charlie was glad he'd have a familiar face there, and thought Tom was too, but Tom was too much of a Slytherin to admit it. "- I want a letter a week! I don't want to have to go all the way to Norway-"

"Romania."

"Whatever. It's still a long way away and I don't want to have to go all the way there just to give you a talking to!"

"If that's what it takes to get you to visit..."

"Prat."

"Bye, Canis," he said, tapping the basket. The cat mewled curiously. Tonks scowled and he hissed.

"Shut up," she said, giving the basket a little shake. She gave Charlie one last hug and then vanished into the crowd with the other two.

Charlie parted a sea of fourth year girls and made his way toward his family. Before he could reach Mum, however, a small, skinny figure collided with him. "Charlie!" Ginny cried.

"Gin," he said, ruffling her hair. She flattened it and pulled away, wrinkling her nose. He scooped her off the ground and tossed her over his shoulder easily, like he would with his broom on the way back from practice. She squealed and kicked. Charlie pretended to the struggle was too much and set her down again, puffing dramatically. "What happened, kiddo? You've grown since Christmas!"

"I'm taller than Ron now," she said happily, seizing his hand.

"With the way he eats? I don't believe it."

"It's true," she said, towing him toward the rest of the family. "Look." She released him and went to stand beside Ron and was indeed taller.

Mum hugged him tightly and then fussed over his hair. "Dad's come straight from work - he'll meet us at the car."

"He didn't have to do that," Charlie said, touched.

"He wanted to," Mum said, smiling. "Oh, Charlie, I can't believe I've got two sons out of school!"

"You've got lots of sons out of school," Fred pointed out, ushering her out of the way so he and George could hug Charlie. "It's holidays."

"But when it's not-" Mum said.

"You've still only got Perce," George said. "We haven't started yet and neither's ickle Ronnikins."

"They call you ickle now?" Charlie asked, laughing as he turned his attention to his youngest brother. Ron wore an odd expression – as if he didn't know whether he wanted to smile at Charlie or scowl at Fred and George – but the grin won out, splitting his freckled face.

"Yeah," he said a little ruefully. "I'm the shortest Weasley."

Charlie hugged him. "You're the shortest male Weasley," he corrected. And privately, he didn't think it would be for much longer; Bill, Percy and Ginny had always been tall and thin for their respective ages, though Bill was about average height now and he suspected Ginny would stop growing early and be short like Mum. He and the twins had always been shorter and stockier. Ron fit into neither group; he seemed to have gained a little weight – his face was a little rounder than Charlie remembered it being at Christmas – but if that weight was there to stay, Tonks wasn't a Metamorphmagus. "Ginny's the shortest female."

"Ginny's the _only_ female," George said. Ginny scowled.

"I don't know," Fred said. "If Perce grew his hair out..."

"Where _is_ Percy?"

"Dunno," Ron said, straining to see through the crowd.

"Don't bother looking," Fred told him.

"Yeah," George said, grinning, "leave that to the taller Weasleys."

Ron made a face and then said, "There he is!"

"What?" Fred demanded.

"Where?" George asked.

"Clearly height isn't everything..." Ron said slyly as Ginny dashed off into the crowd.

Five minutes later they were all - well, minus Bill but he'd be there for dinner - off. Mum, Dad, George and Ginny sat in the front seat; Ginny was on Dad's lap and kept moving so he had to look around her to see the road. George was watching Dad drive with a shrewd expression, and every now and then he would turn and share a look with Fred. If Charlie didn't know better, he'd swear they were trying to learn how to drive the thing... And then he shook his head; playful as the twins were, he didn't think they'd try anything like that.

Charlie himself was between Percy - who was looking out the window, clearly missing school already - and Ron who was talking animatedly about a trip to Diagon Alley.

"-in the Leaky Cauldron and this boy fell out of the fireplace, right."

"Right," Charlie muttered, not really listening.

"Well, we didn't think anything of it at the time but do you know who it was?"

"No, do tell," Charlie said, yawning.

"It was Harry Potter!" Ginny shrieked from the front seat. Dad jumped and had to swerve at the last moment or he would have crashed the car.

"Ginny! Not while your father's driving!" Mum said crossly.

"Sorry," Ginny said, not looking sorry at all. She climbed over George, over the back of the seat and wedged herself in between Ron and Fred. "Tell him about it, Ron," she said, her brown eyes bright.

Charlie was listening with interest now; he knew quite a bit about the Potter-Black case because Tonks wanted to be an Auror and had often regaled him with newspaper articles. Ron nodded eagerly. "So he came out of the fireplace and talked to us for a bit and then he left and I went to the bathroom but when I came back, I walked right into him again. He was wearing his glasses this time, though, and I recognised him and he told me not to tell and then some lady saw him too and then he ran."

"We were interviewed and everything," Ginny said huffily. "I thought the reporters were so rude. He seemed really nice and all they care about is a story for their silly paper."

"We didn't tell them anything," Ron said proudly. "And then Mum got in a fight with a reporter that tried to follow us home."

"It was wicked," Fred said. "She had her wand out and everything."

"Didn't know you had it in you, Mum," Charlie said, impressed. Mum looked rather flattered.

"What else has been going on?" Percy asked.

"The gnomes are back," Mum sighed.

"Dad helped Ron and I-"

"Ron and me," Percy corrected. Fred booed him.

"Dad helped Ron and _me_," Ginny continued, smiling at Percy, "build a house for them in the backyard."

Charlie grinned. "Can you show me when you get home?"

"First thing," Ron said, nodding. "But the painting's bad."

"Blame Ginny for that," Fred said.

"It looks like a Unicorn threw up on it," George said. "All bright and sparkly."

"It looks nice," Ginny said defensively. Fred, George and Ron exchanged looks.

"I'm sure it does," Charlie said, shifting so he could grin at Dad in the rear-view mirror.

* * *

"No more school work," Alfred said. "And do you know what?"

Tonks pulled her eyes off of Charlie - who'd just been hugged by his little sister Ginny - and laughed. "What?"

"I'm actually going to miss it," Alfred said, pulling a face.

"I'm not," Keith said. "I'm going to join our local Quidditch team and teach the younger kids how to play."

Alfred's eyes brightened at that. "Do you reckon I could help?" Alfred, Tonks knew, wanted a job in the Department of Management and Control of Magical Children.

"Sure," Keith said, shrugging.

"Brilliant- Oh, that's Bec." He waved at a tall girl with short blond hair - Alfred's younger sister Louise was there too - hugged Tonks, shook Keith's hand and dragged his trunk toward them.

Tonks waved at Rebecca who smiled and waved back; she'd been Head Girl in Tonks' fifth year. "It's nice of her to come and get them," she said.

Keith shrugged. "She doesn't have much choice, since Alfred failed his Apparition test."

"She could have made them catch the Knight Bus," Tonks pointed out.

"I guess." He fidgeted, looking quite nervous. "So, got any plans for the summer?"

"I'm spending some time with Mum and Dad," Tonks said, smiling at the thought. "Mum's offering a few galleons if I help her out at the bank so I might do that for a bit and Dad says I'm always welcome at the station so I'll probably be there quite a bit too. How about you?"

"Quidditch, like I said," Keith muttered. He scuffed his trainer on the ground and then looked up hopefully. "I was wondering, though, if you'd like to catch up at some point?"

"Of course!" she said. "We aren't about to fall out of contact, Keith."

"Great," Keith said, smiling.

"Just send me an owl or something to say you aren't busy." She checked her watch and made a face. "I've got to go - I told Dad I'd be there by five..."

"Yeah, that's fine. I told Mum I'd help her with dinner." They hugged and then he vanished into the throng of students and Tonks headed back toward the train.

She used the window as a mirror and lengthened her hair until it rested on her shoulders, made it brown and changed her eyes to a nice blue - the same colour her hair had just been. She left her face as it was - pale and heart-shaped - returned her nose to its usual shape - small and buttony - and then, willed a smattering of freckles into existence. She examined herself critically, shrugged and grabbed her trunk.

She knew it would be easier to Disapparate from the platform, but nostalgia made her want to walk out into the muggle world one last time, so she set off through the crowd.

_This is it,_ she thought sadly, facing the wall. She took a last glance over her shoulder at the scarlet steam engine and then squared her shoulders. She lifted her trunk and Canis' basket and strode through. A muggle man gave her an odd look and then shook his head and walked away. _It's funny how muggles go out of their way to ignore magic_, she thought, smiling slightly as she headed through the station.

"Are you still there?" she asked Canis, who hissed again. "You're just lucky I didn't leave you at school," she told him. He hissed again. "Yes, well I don't like you much either."

"Mother, we're late!" a little girl screeched, hauling her mother toward the barrier Tonks had just come out of. "Bertram and Clarice are probably the last ones there!"

The mother, a tall, willowy woman with dark hair - the little girl looked a lot like her, but smaller - sighed and said, "Go ahead then, Astoria, and let them know we're on our way."

"Why does _she_ get to go?" a blond girl demanded as the little one ran off with a delighted yell.

"You're welcome to go too," the woman replied calmly. The blond gave the woman a suspicious look and ran after the little dark-haired girl. "Are you going too, Vivienne?"

"No," said the third girl who was also dark-haired. "If Clarice gets more time with Edmond, she'll be happier all holidays."

The woman laughed. "Is that so?"

"Yes," the little girl said matter-of-factly. She saw Tonks looking and smiled. Tonks smiled back and then collided with something soft and dropped Canis' basket. It burst open and the cat stuck his head out and glanced around the station before darting away.

"Watch it!" a heavy man with a bushy moustache said.

"Sorry!" she said, righting her trunk.

"As you should be," an equally large woman said. "Youths these days! No respect for anyone anymore. She's as bad as that boy of yours-"

Tonks prepared herself to be berated, but the man's expression changed dramatically at the mention of this mysterious boy. He seemed to forget about Tonks altogether.

"He's gone!" the man said brightly as they walked away. "Clearly you haven't been reading the papers, Marge..."

Tonks picked Canis' basket off the station floor and set it on top of her trunk. "Here," the girl said, holding Canis out.

"Thank you," Tonks said. Canis hissed at her and sank his claws into the girl's jumper. "Sorry," she said, prying the little cat free. "He's not very well behaved."

"What's his name?"

"Canis."

"That's a funny name."

"Vivienne!" the woman said, looking embarrassed. "I'm terribly sorry-"

"It's all right," Tonks said cheerfully, stuffing her cat back into his basket. She winked at the girl. "I gave him a funny name on purpose." She smiled and the mother seemed to relax a bit. "Thanks again," Tonks said, gathering her things.

The pair continued towards the platform, while Tonks headed out of the station and into muggle London. She pulled her trunk and Canis' basket down an alley, checked for muggles and then Apparated into a storage room in the studio. Canis yowled, making her jump.

She swore and steadied the box of tapes she'd almost knocked over. Tonks spent a moment in the darkness with her ear pressed up against the door and once she'd decided there was no one there, stepped out into the bright hallway.

She was waiting by the lift - Canis was still grumbling in his basket - when it opened and three people stepped out. Two were very professional looking, a man and a woman, both with short, sleek hair and pinched expressions. The third stopped when he saw her. "Dora!" Jim said, giving her a bright, very white smile.

"Jim!" Tonks said, delighted. He and Dad had worked together since she was born and she'd spent a lot of time in the studio as a kid. She dropped her trunk so she could give him a hug.

"I thought you might have been too old for hugs," he said, letting her go.

"Never," she said. "How've you been?"

"Not too bad, thanks," Jim said. "Dawes - you know Kevin Dawes, the weatherman?"

"I think Dad's talked about him," Tonks said, frowning.

"Dad's talked about him..." Jim said, shaking his head. "Of course he has; he's the longest serving weatherman in London!"

"When did he join the station?"

"A few years back," Jim said. He shook his head. "Anyone would think you didn't watch the news."

"I don't always," she said, shrugging.

"You must be in the minority. My brother can't pull his kids away from the television. Anyway, Dawes is retiring in March and he's training me up to take his place." He straightened his tie importantly.

"Brilliant," Tonks said.

He smiled. "I'm looking forward to it – I've only done the weather a few times, and most of those were years ago, before Dawes worked at this station. Here, we're blocking the hall." He picked her trunk up and led her down the corridor. "I hear you've just finished school?"

"I have."

"Makes me feel old," he said ruefully. "I still remember when you were five and wore that big knitted hat everywhere."

Tonks was startled into laughter. "I remember that," she said; until she'd turned seven, she hadn't had proper control of her Metamorphmagus abilities and had had to wear the hat everywhere to cover her hair, which had been - and still was - the part of her that changed most readily.

"You wouldn't take it off, even in summer," he said fondly. "So how's it feel?"

"What? Being free of the hat? It's great."

"No, you duffer. Finishing school."

"Oh." She laughed. "A bit sad, really, but I think I'm ready to face the real world."

"Know what you're going to do?"

She tried to remember the name for muggle law enforcers and couldn't. A conversation from a few weeks back drifted through her head. "Politics," she said, to buy herself time. _And it sounds like that, too... pilates? Pol-something..._

"Politics? You? Really?"

She laughed. "No, not really. I was thinking I might join the police force."

He chuckled. "Now that I'll believe. Here we go."

Tonks blinked at the door that said _Ted Tonks_. "It's moved. When-?"

"Last week," Jim said. "Some idiot from advertising decided he wanted a better office so your dad swapped."

"Why?"

"Because Parker would have quit otherwise and he's too valuable," Jim sighed. "Ted doesn't mind much, I don't think. He's only here on afternoons anyway." He knocked and pushed the door open.

"That and the less space I have, the tidier I have to be," Dad said as they walked in.

Tonks took one look at the desk and smiled. "Dad, you don't know how to be tidy."

Dad hugged her. "I do so."

"I've never seen it," she said. She cleared a little patch on the desk and put the basket down. "Besides, I'm a slob and I certainly didn't get it from Mum."

"True," Dad said. His eyes landed on Jim and he chuckled. "Oh, Jim, you didn't need to carry that. You should have made her do it."

"It's fine, really," Jim said. "Besides, she carried the cat." Canis hissed to remind everyone he was there.

The phone rang. Dad had to shift several folders and his briefcase to get to it. "Ted Tonks speaking," he said. "Yeah, there's room." He gestured wildly with one hand. Tonks recognised the old gesture and grabbed a blank sheet of paper and a muggle pen and passed them to him. He smiled and fumbled with the lid. "Mmmhmm." He scribbled something down and then paused. "No!"

"What's happening?" Tonks whispered but he waved a hand to quiet her.

"Yes... Yes... Yes, send through the details... No, but I'll see what I can do... All right. Thanks, Sean." He hung up and let out a gusty breath.

"Sean Green?" Tonks asked. Sean was an old school friend of Mum and Dad's. He was a Slytherin - cunning to the core and talented, according to Mum - but the few times Tonks had met him he'd been nice too, and had no prejudices against muggles or muggleborns. A lot like Tom, really. To prove that, he'd gone into Muggle Liaisons, like Dad had, and he worked part-time with the Ministry and part-time with a muggle newspaper, to moderate what wizarding events muggles were exposed to, and how those events were presented.

Dad nodded. "Did you see anything suspicious when you were at the train station?"

"No, why?"

"A woman was at... erm... killed."

"Where?!" Tonks asked. "At the station?!"

"Just outside," Dad said, looking pale.

"Did they catch whoever did it?" Jim asked.

"No. He disappeared." Dad met Tonks' eyes. "Right into thin air." She nodded to show she'd understood. "But they're looking."

Jim shivered. "It's uncanny how criminals do that. Anyone would think they were magical or something."

Tonks baulked and clamped down on her instincts before her hair could turn bright pink for embarrassment, or perhaps white for shock. "Let's just hope our side have magic too, then," Dad said with an easy smile. He pulled a stack of papers toward him, added a note about the death, checked his watch and then said, "I'm on in five."

"Tie," Jim said as he stood.

Dad adjusted the offending article - it was black with little gold-yellow diamonds on it to show his house pride - and combed his hair out of his face with his hand.

"Tuck the back of your shirt in," Tonks said critically.

Dad rolled his eyes. "I'll be sitting down anyway," he said, even as he fixed it.

The three of them left Dad's office, though they said goodbye to Jim just before reaching the set - he needed to find Dawes before he went on.

"So what happened?" Tonks asked, nervously.

"A woman was taken."

"Taken by who?"

"Greyback," Dad said, his eyes flashing. Tonks closed her eyes for a moment. "Someone recognised him and contacted the Aurors. They're looking now. She'll either be found dead, or found bitten."

"Why are you telling everyone she's dead, then? She might be alive!"

"She's a muggle," Dad said heavily. "They've got half the Ministry searching and the other half trying to cover everything up; she's been declared dead in the muggle world, which is what I've got to present tonight and I'm supposed to ask her family to come to a police station tomorrow, where they'll speak with a team from Muggle Liasons."

"That's awful!" Tonks exclaimed. Dad nodded grimly. They set off again, only to turn a corner and stop when they spotted a woman hovering near the studio entrance. "Mum?" Tonks said.

"Surprise," Mum said a little sheepishly, glancing at Dad.

"I didn't know you were coming!" Tonks ran to her mother and hugged her. Next thing she knew, both of them were on the ground.

"Was that you or me?" Mum asked.

"Both," Dad said helpfully, pulling them to their feet.

Tonks laughed but Mum squawked and flapped a hand. "Hair!" she said. "Nymphadora!"

"Sorry, sorry!" She scrunched up her face and her hair went back to the shoulder-length brown style it had been before, though it was tinged with red - from her mother's use of her name. She always relaxed around family - or magical folk in general, really - and found her Metamorphmagus abilities behaved accordingly.

Mum gathered her up in another hug. "I can't believe you're finished. It's going to be so wonderful to have you back at home again."

Tonks exchanged an exasperated look with Dad but she tightened her arms around Mum. "You'll get sick of me being around," Tonks assured her. "Eating all your food, getting in your way, making the house messy..."

"Your father already does all of that," Mum said fondly.

"You'll be out of a job," Tonks told Dad, who chuckled.

"I'll manage."

"How was the train ride home?" Mum asked. "I'll bet you're starving; I remember the food coming early-"

"You're fussing, Dromeda," Dad said with a smile.

"I've got my baby girl home," Mum said, folding her arms. "I'm allowed to."

"Baby?" Tonks asked. "I'm legally an adult!" Mum and Dad both gave her amused looks and then Dad wrapped an arm around Mum and led her down the corridor to the set. Tonks followed behind, muttering to herself about babies and delusional parents.

* * *

Harry landed with a thump. Padfoot jumped and fell off his chair. "What the hell just happened?" he asked, disgruntled.

Harry was a little winded but couldn't feel any other damage. "Hit the wards," he gasped, managing to sit upright. After learning that Padfoot and Harry intended to destroy the locket, Kreacher had all but reversed his personality; he was now fairly polite - though he still had his moments - had taken on all of the cooking and cleaning there was to be done, and with a lot of coaxing from Padfoot, agreed to come with them to the cave.

He'd also become a much better Apparition instructor, and Harry, had managed to Apparate for the first time last week, almost two and a half months after he'd started learning. Finally, the daily lessons were beginning to pay off; he'd been able to repeat the feat several times, but not with any consistency yet. _Finite._

"Are you hurt?"

"No."

"Good." Padfoot clambered back into his chair and shooed Harry off the table. Grinning Harry climbed down, retrieved his wand from the ground and thought, _Ostendere me omnia_. His vision flickered and in addition to what he could see with his eyes, he could see his magic, Padfoot's, the faint white glow, flecked with Harry's red and gold where he'd tried to Apparate before, and more on the table where he'd landed, covering an oblivious Padfoot. There were streaks of pale red hanging in the air where Padfoot had Summoned books the day before and then there was the web of wards.

Fiercely intricate - stranded with thin lines of murky green-black that was Padfoot's dad's magic - and the red that belonged to his godfather, there were more shades than Harry had ever seen and would ever be able to name. It was like a skin made of a thousand different fibres, clinging perfectly to the roof, walls and floor, but it was also _alive_, rippling and pulsing and every now and then, a hole would appear and be gone a second later. He didn't need a second though, if he timed it right.

Harry steeled himself, one foot already beginning to twist. Another hole appeared, just above the door and Harry spun on the spot, mentally throwing himself at it, the rest of his mind already focusing on the ground floor study. Harry swore when he hit a hard surface and again when he bounced off of it and landed on the carpet. _Finite. _

Feeling rather dizzy, he made a mental note to thank his godfather for his much-expanded vocabulary. He picked himself up off the ground, rummaged through the desk for a few rolls of parchment, grabbed two quills and an inkwell, stuffed the whole lot in his robe pockets and then mentally murmured the spell that would let him see magic. He waited and then leapt through a fluctuating gap in the warding, hoping to make it back to the library.

"Oof!" For the second time in as many minutes, Padfoot found himself on the floor, though this time, Harry was there with him.

_Finite_, Harry thought and the magic vanished to his eyes. "Sorry," he said, laughing as Padfoot lifted him off.

"Not a prob-" Padfoot made a funny choking sound and then doubled over, laughing.

"What?" Harry asked, emptying the contents of his pockets on the table.

"You've left your eyebrows and eyelashesbehind," Padfoot chortled.

Harry lifted a hand and traced his forehead. The skin was completely smooth, or at least lower down was – his scar was still there. His eyelids were smooth too. He patted his ears to make sure they were still there - he'd done that the day before last - and while Padfoot had re-attached it without any trouble, it still itched terribly. "Can you fix it?"

"Nope," Padfoot said without even looking up.

If Harry had had eyebrows, they would have arched. "What do you mean?"

"Well, kiddo, 'nope' is synonymous with 'no' which is basically a way of me saying I can't or won't do something. In this context-"

"I meant why not?"

"Ah, but you didn't say it." Padfoot grinned at him and the sight of Harry caused him to start chuckling again. Harry's eyes narrowed. "And I can't fix it because I don't know any hair growth charms."

"None?" Harry asked.

"Actually, that's a lie: I know one hair charm, if you're interested..." Harry watched him expectantly. Padfoot tilted his head and watched Harry thoughtfully. "You know, a beard might actually suit you..." Harry clapped his hands to his chin and turned away before Padfoot actually did it. Padfoot just laughed.

Harry retreated across the room, keeping a hand in front of his face the entire time and up and down one of the bookcase-walls, searching for a book that might help. _Beauty Fixes, Finishes and Flourishes To Have Your Wizard Fantasising _seemed like an unfortunately named book but did contain a whole chapter on the eye and eyebrow region of the face.

Harry passed the book to Padfoot who glanced over the page before pulling his wand and muttering the incantation. Harry's face itched horribly and his eyes watered - growing eyelashes wasn't exactly pleasant - and then it stopped. His forehead started to tingle as Padfoot cast another spell, and then the sensation faded. He lifted a hand to feel the results.

"It feels okay," he said tentatively.

Padfoot glanced at him and frowned slightly. "I think your left eyebrow might be a little bit wonky," he said critically, and with a slight grin. Harry frowned and reached up to touch it again. Padfoot's grin widened and then he glanced at his stomach which had just growled loudly.

"Do we have any birthday cake left?"

"Dunno," Harry said, shrugging, but all thoughts of wonky eyebrows vanished and a small smile forced itself onto his face; three days ago, it had been Harry's ninth birthday. Harry hadn't really known what to expect - Dudley was always horribly spoilt, and had been given thirty presents from his parents alone last year (a figure which would undoubtedly have risen this year) while Harry was lucky to get even a pair of socks.

He thought Padfoot, like the Dursleys (although Padfoot was certainly nicer about it), had done more than enough for him already, giving him a place to live, clothes - new ones, to replace most of Dudley's awful ones - food and had also been giving him magic lessons.

As a result, Harry had been stunned when Padfoot presented him with a large supply of sweets, several books of spells, an Auror-quality target dummy and a new pair of trainers. The sweets alone had cost more than all of the presents Harry had ever received from the Dursleys and to top it off, Padfoot had had Kreacher help him bake and ice a birthday cake, which they'd surprised Harry with after dinner.

"Kreacher!" Padfoot called. The elf Apparated in and Padfoot requested birthday cake for both of them. Kreacher bowed and even made an odd facial expression that might have been a smile before vanishing so easily that Harry could only watch enviously. _Kreacher_ didn't leave his ears or - though he didn't have them - eyebrows behind.

Padfoot seemed to know what he was thinking; he was very obviously fighting a smile. Harry made a face and flopped down on the couch where he'd been that morning. This morning, he'd been reading _Simple But Effective Spells For Sticky Situations _- which had been one of his birthday presents - but Harry could only spend so much time with his head in a book each day, so instead he played with the solid gold puzzle they'd found in Orion Black's office.

Padfoot said it had belonged to Regulus when he was a few years younger than Harry, and that when one put all the pieces together, it formed a small snake that would slither when touched. Harry, however, had been trying for quite some time and was yet to make anything that even faintly resembled a snake and it was frustrating him as much as his attempts at Apparition.

"How's it going?" Padfoot asked as Harry tried to force two jagged, circular pieces together. Harry glowered at him. "Oh, _that_ well?"

"Shut up."

"There's always reading," Padfoot said. "Can't be too prepared, you know." Harry threw a piece of the puzzle at him, but even as Padfoot threw it back and he lifted a hand to catch it, those words rang in his ears and Harry's stomach gave an unpleasant jolt at the reminder of what was to come.


	14. The Cave

Harry's insides relaxed and he let go of his godfather's hand. _Finite_, he thought quickly; there was magic everywhere, in every colour, shape, style and concentration he could imagine and it was almost overpowering.

The extra sight dropped away and he glanced around curiously. The streets were nearly empty with only a few local witches and wizards drifting between stores. None spared either Harry or Padfoot any attention.

"Nicely done," Padfoot said, looking around with a strange expression. He ran a hand through his short, blond hair. "It hasn't changed a bit."

"Is that the Shrieking Shack?" Harry asked, nodding to a dilapidated building, which rested alone – far away from any of the other buildings - on a hill above the rest of the village.

"It is," Padfoot said. As they watched, a roof tile slid off and shattered in the grass.

"And that's where you and Dad and Moony and Peter went to transform?" Harry glanced at the boarded windows, and wondered if Padfoot, James and Moony had put them up to keep other witches and wizards away while they were Animagi.

"It was like our hideout, yeah," Padfoot said after a pause. Harry knew he was leaving something out but didn't say anything. "I'll take you inside sometime." But not today, Harry knew. They had other things to do today. "Come on, Honeydukes is this way." Harry took another curious look around and followed his godfather.

"What does the incantation '_Pedis Offensio'_ do?"

"Tripping jinx," Harry answered promptly.

"Wind charm?"

"Er... '_Ventus'_."

"If I wanted to make something explode..."

"'_Bombarda'_," Harry said after a moment. He hadn't actually managed that one yet, but Padfoot said he was close.

"_'Diffindo'_?"

"Severing Charm."

"Stickfast He-"

"That's... er... Oh! '_Colloshoo'_," Harry said.

Padfoot stared at him for a moment, nodded once and waved Harry into a brightly coloured store. Inside was incredible. Harry didn't know where to look first. Padfoot grinned at the sight of Harry's face and pressed a galleon into his hand.

"Buy what you want." Harry hardly dared to believe his luck.

"You're joking?!" he said.

Padfoot gave him a patient smile. Hardly able to believe his luck, Harry darted off to look at one of the displays. He'd been given Chocolate Frogs and a bag of Sugar Quills for his birthday, but the rest of the sweets were all new to him, although he had heard of Bertie Botts because Padfoot had told him once that he and James had fed the bad ones to other students between lessons. After they'd charmed them to resemble the good ones, of course.

He prodded at a box of Bellyflies – '_Flutter realistically inside your stomach for hours!' – _and then went to investigate a lollipop the size of his head, which changed flavour as it was eaten. In the end, Harry bought a little of everything.

"Someone's got a sweet tooth," the woman at the counter said, chuckling when Harry deposited a large box of Chocolate Frogs, a tin of Bertie Botts, a pack of Droobles, four Liquorice Wands, a bag of Fizzing Whizbees and packet of Sherbet Witch's Hats on the bench.

"Like father like son," Padfoot told the witch, obviously meaning James, but she didn't know that; Padfoot had his arms full with four massive blocks of chocolate, an enormous box of Bertie Botts, a handful of Chocolate Frogs and a large Cauldron Cake.

He shifted his bounty and passed the witch another galleon. They stuffed their purchases into Harry's rucksack - which was almost overflowing - and made their way out into the warm streets.

Padfoot offered Harry his arm. Harry took it, feeling a little relieved that he wouldn't have to get them back so soon after Apparating them there. Padfoot spun on the spot.

They landed on Number Twelve's doorstep. Padfoot tapped the door once and it swung open. Harry kicked it shut once they were both inside and then Padfoot removed the Appearance Alteration Charms they had on.

The hall was much nicer than it had been when they'd first moved in; they'd gotten rid of that atrocious umbrella stand and Padfoot had charmed the lamps on the walls and the large overhead chandelier to turn on whenever someone walked in – that way, it wasn't dark all the time. The lamp light also reduced the severity of the dark green wallpaper.

They'd removed the worn carpet altogether and discovered floorboards underneath, which they'd spent hours polishing and repairing. No matter what they tried, one floorboard just inside the door always squeaked and they'd given up on that, deciding Padfoot's father had charmed it to give warning of visitors, and that it might actually be useful.

Padfoot had moved the portraits of his ancestors - all save for his mother whose portrait was they hadn't been able to get down - to the linen cupboard upstairs. Kreacher's den had been relocated to the same place and he was thoroughly enjoying the larger space and the company of generations of Blacks.

"Kreacher!" Harry called. Mrs Black opened her mouth but Padfoot yanked the curtain back into place before she could articulate as much as 'filth'. CRACK! Kreacher sank into a bow at the sight of the two of them, still a little stiffly but Harry suspected that had more to do with his age than anything else. "We'll leave after lunch," Harry told him.

"Kreacher will be ready," Kreacher said reluctantly, wiping his bony hands on the pillowcase Padfoot had given him to replace his loincloth. His attitude toward Padfoot was steadily improving and while there were, of course, strained moments between the pair – and Harry thought that was why Padfoot hadn't asked for Apparition lessons from the elf yet, so as not to destroy their fragile neutrality – and lingering qualms from Padfoot's childhood, most of the animosity was gone. Harry suspected it had a lot to do with the regularity and quality of Kreacher's cooking.

"Good," Padfoot said. He stopped suddenly and Harry almost walked into the back of him. "Have you been cooking?" he asked delightedly.

"Kreacher is making food for hungry Master and the brat-" Kreacher smiled at Harry almost cheekily as he said it and Harry grinned back. "-oh yes, Kreacher is a good elf." Harry perked up at the mention of food. Padfoot was already halfway down the hall, heading for the kitchen stairs.

"Thanks, Kreacher," Harry said, thrilled, and sprinted after his godfather.

Kreacher was already there when he arrived, serving Padfoot sandwiches and pouring juice. Harry sat down, accepted a glass from the elf and dug into his own lunch. He was nervous but he pushed that down; he'd need all his strength for what they were about to do.

Despite knowing that, however, both Harry and Padfoot were only able to eat half of what they usually would and Kreacher didn't eat at all. The elf's movements were getting shakier and his croaky voice shriller with every passing moment.

"Empty your rucksack," Padfoot told Harry, taking a nervous sip of his juice. "Just leave the sweets on the table and we'll sort them out when we get home."

Harry did that, keeping only three of the enormous blocks of chocolate in there; the fourth he gave to Padfoot who opened it, fumbling with the wrapper.

While Padfoot ate, Harry filled a thermos with hot chocolate, and then filled three water bottles and added them to his rucksack too; Kreacher had said there was no way to conjure water in the cave so Harry and Padfoot were going to try to carry it in.

And, if the water evaporated, there was always the hot chocolate, which would hopefully help to fight the effects of the potion; chocolate reduced the effects of Dementors after all. Harry also sent Kreacher upstairs to retrieve the container of fireworks they'd bought the day before.

Padfoot pulled his mirror out of his robes and murmured, "James Potter." James appeared as he always did, smiling and laughing. "Today's the day," Padfoot told him, his voice lacking its usual on-the-verge-of-laughter quality.

Padfoot told James everything; Harry often heard him talking to the mirror at night. James couldn't speak back, but that didn't seem to matter, because he was there.

"Hi, Dad," Harry said softly. James waved.

Padfoot swallowed. "Wish us luck," he said. James laughed soundlessly. Padfoot glanced at Harry who was watching the mirror hungrily and then pocketed it.

Finally, they were ready.

Padfoot, who was wearing Harry's rucksack, took one of Kreacher's shaking hands and Harry took the other. Kreacher twisted on the spot and Harry felt himself being pulled.

"Urgh!" he heard, and a splash, then a squeak and Padfoot cursed.

"Is this it?" Harry asked, opening his eyes. He couldn't see a thing but he could hear water gurgling quietly, hear Kreacher's nervous breathing and hear his own voice echoing. He shivered. Kreacher made a terrified wheezing sound from somewhere to his right.

"_Lumos,_" Padfoot breathed. Pale wandlight lit the cavern. The walls were damp and caught the light, glittering in a way that made Harry shiver again. Padfoot was clambering out of a small pool in the ground with a wary expression on his face and dried his wet legs with a quick spell. Harry lit his own wand.

"_Ostendere me omnia_," Harry whispered. He knew he didn't need to say it aloud but his own voice was better than the eerie silence. He ignored his red and gold, Padfoot's crimson and Kreacher's pale green and focused on the new magic.

His mouth fell open. Lines of green and sliver pulsed on the stone, like veins. Harry immediately recognised it as the same magic that he'd seen in the locket, only there had been black in the locket and there wasn't here.

"Where now?" Padfoot asked Kreacher.

"There," Harry and Kreacher said together, pointing to what Padfoot must think was a blank stretch of wall. "It's... glowing," Harry murmured; there was far less green magic there, only silver, extremely faint however, and in the shape of an archway.

There were peculiar splatter marks too; some were pale green and some a misty silver - different to the rest of the silver, which was glittery. Though he'd never seen the misty silver before, both it and the green were strangely familiar.

"So the pool is the way out?" Padfoot asked.

Kreacher nodded. "The Dark Lord is making Kreacher swim the first time, through the crack in the rock. When Master Regulus is coming here, Kreacher brought him straight to this cave."

"Why not just take us straight through?" Padfoot asked quietly.

Kreacher trembled. "The lake is always changing," he whispered. "Never in the same place. Kreacher is not wanting to disturb _them_, oh no!"

"All right," Padfoot said. "How do we get through, then?"

"The way is hidden," Kreacher croaked. "But it opens for blood."

"Blood?" Harry asked, paling. _So that's what the splatter marks are... The green is Kreacher, I think... and the silver... Regulus? _

Padfoot wrinkled his nose but didn't seem overly fussed. "Where?" was all he said.

"I can-" Harry began, but Padfoot just rolled his eyes.

Kreacher guided him over to the wall and then Padfoot pointed his wand at his palm and said, "_Sectum_." A line sprung up on his hand, red to Harry's normal eyes, and bright, constantly moving scarlet to Harry's magic-enhanced vision. Padfoot smeared his palm on the rock and then healed the injury with a tap of his wand: "_Sana. Novum Cutis_."

There wasn't even a scar left, but the silver of the archway flared so brightly that Harry snapped his eyes shut and mentally shouted, _Finite!_

When he opened them again, the archway was glowing dimly and then it simply vanished. He and Padfoot stared through the black opening; Kreacher let out a wail and latched onto the back of Harry's robes.

"Kreacher, you'll stay here," Padfoot said after a pause. Harry looked at him in surprise. "Look at him, he's terrified," Padfoot said. Harry found himself fighting a smile; that, if anything, showed how far Padfoot and Kreacher had come in the months since finding the locket.

"Master is... good... kind Master," the elf sniffled.

"I mean stay here, though. I don't know what state I'll be in when we get back but it's more than likely Harry will need help." Kreacher nodded, his ears flapping. "If something happens to me, your priority is to get Harry out, all right? _That _is an order."

Kreacher sniffed. "Are you sure you're up for this?" Padfoot asked Harry. Harry swallowed and nodded. "We'll see you when we get back, then," he told the elf. With that, Padfoot strode through the opening. Harry darted through after him.

There was, as Kreacher had said, a lake and the water was so dark it was indistinguishable from the cave walls. The cave itself was so high Harry couldn't tell where it ended and so deep that he couldn't make out the far wall either.

What he could make out, thought, was a green glow - the island, presumably - right out in what was probably the middle of the lake.

Harry turned to get one last look at Kreacher but the wall had already sealed itself again. Padfoot turned to Harry, his face serious in the wand light.

"Don't touch the water," he said. Harry nodded. "I want you to stay here."

"Here?" Harry asked. His voice echoed into the still darkness.

"You agreed."

"Well, yeah, but-"

"Harry," Padfoot said sternly.

"I didn't think you were going to be alone! I thought Kreacher would go too-"

"He's told us both the stories enough times," Padfoot said calmly. That was true. Harry could probably tell it in as much detail as the elf could. "It'll be all right."

"But... what if it isn't?" Harry's green eyes scanned the cave mistrustfully.

Padfoot shook his shaggy, black head. "If something goes wrong, there's not a lot Kreacher would be able to do to help me." Again, Harry had to see the truth in that. He fixed Harry with another serious look.

"Remember what you promised." Harry swallowed and nodded. "And don't do anything stupid. If it comes to it, I want you to get out as quickly as possible. You'll have to pay with blood to get back to where Kreacher is, but you can do it. Get him to take you home. Wait until this time tomorrow night, and if I'm still not home, I want you to find Remus."

"Remus?" Harry repeated.

"There's a letter in my bedroom-"

"You aren't planning to die, are you?" Harry cried.

"No!" Padfoot said, so determinedly that Harry believed him. "No, I most certainly am not. I'm just making sure we've got a back-up plan. The letter will explain everything to him and it names him as your guardian. Do you understand?" Harry nodded. Padfoot slipped the rucksack off and passed Harry the container of fireworks. "Just in case you or I need a distraction," he said.

Once Padfoot had undone the Shrinking Charm on it, he put the rucksack back on. "It'll be all right, kiddo," he promised. Harry prayed he would be right. Padfoot tapped Harry with his wand and said, "_Frigus Ignis_." It was a Fire-Freezing Charm, so that, if it came to it, he could incinerate the place where he was standing and be unharmed.

Padfoot repeated the spell on himself, hugged Harry tightly and set off around the lake, keeping to the narrow path.

_Ostendere me omnia_. The entire cavern came to life and Harry was not entirely surprised to see the wards and charms protecting this one were much stronger than they were in the cave they'd arrived in. The gaps in the wards were much, much smaller and did not occur as frequently as the ones at Grimmauld Place.

He was impressed Kreacher had managed to escape twice. The lake was another matter altogether; he could see the Inferi, ghostly shapes, floating just beneath the surface.

They glowed with magic - Voldemort's silver and green was there, as well as a pale colour unique to each of them - a different sort of pale than Kreacher's, though, Harry knew - that had surely been their own magic once upon a time.

Harry's eyes flicked to the swirling red mass that was Padfoot. He'd begun to walk rather peculiarly, with one leg kicking out over the ledge with each step. It took Harry a moment to realise he was looking for the invisible chain Kreacher had mentioned.

The chain though, wasn't invisible to Harry. He could see it, stretching under the water from a hook on the wall and quite a way down, it connected to a tiny boat.

"It's in front of you. Further. Further. About three feet in front of- there!" he called across the water. His voice wasn't loud but it echoed impressively and Padfoot jumped when he heard.

He thought he saw Padfoot nod - though it was hard to tell through the magic - and then he walked forward confidently and felt through the air until his hands clamped around the chain.

He tapped it twice with his wand - once to make it visible, once to raise the boat, Harry thought, if Kreacher's stories were to be believed and they were certainly right so far. Padfoot clambered in and the boat took off at once - Padfoot's yelp echoed too - toward the middle of the lake.

Harry watched, hardly daring to breathe until Padfoot was safely on the island. It was so quiet Harry could hear his footsteps as he approached the basin that Kreacher had told them about. There was a flash of red magic as Padfoot conjured a goblet and then he called, "Cheers!"

"Yeah. Cheers," Harry called back, his voice shaking slightly.

Everything was silent. Harry waited. After a few minutes, he heard a whimper from the island and a moment later, Padfoot screamed. His magic was flickering more than usual, Harry noticed, and felt his worry peak. It went quiet and then Harry heard a quiet groan and Padfoot talking.

"No worse than Dementors..." floated across the lake to Harry's ears. Then, "I didn't mean to! Prongs, I'm sorry. Lily...!" He whimpered again. Harry heard a thump as he took off the rucksack and the sound of a lid unscrewing, though he wasn't sure if it was a water bottle or the thermos. "No worse than Dementors," Padfoot insisted. His hoarse voice echoed through the cave. He moved to fill the goblet again. And then another. And another after that.

He was on his seventh, and Harry was just wondering how full the basin was when there was a flash and a clatter. "Padfoot?"

"Oops," Padfoot said and then there was a heavy thump; the red dropped closer to the island.

"Padfoot!?" Harry shouted. He clapped his hands to his mouth but none of the Inferi-lights showed any signs of moving. There was a long silence. _No, please, no. No, no, no, no, no, no, no-_

_"_I'm all right, kiddo," Padfoot called back, his voice sounding extremely weak.

Harry let out the breath he'd been holding. "Are- Are you finished?"

There was a scuffling sound and Padfoot's red moved over to the basin, then, "No."

"You have to keep drinking," Harry told him.

"I don't want to."

"I know, but you have to. That's why we ca-"

There was a clink and a slurping sound. "I can't," he called pitifully.

Harry wondered if there was any way to send the boat back to the shore so that he could get to the island. After a moment's thought, though, he was forced to concede that - if it was even possible - he didn't know how to do it. He let out a little noise of frustration and turned back to Padfoot, who was hunched over a goblet of potion, mumbling.

"Padfoot?" he called.

"_James?_" Padfoot called, his voice climbing an octave. "James, where are you?"

"I'm not- Padfoot, I-"

"You sound younger... I suppose that's what happens when you die, right? You can be any age you want... I'm sorry."

"Er... It's fine," Harry said quickly. "It's fine, just drink."

There was a quiet slurping sound and then the red mass that was Padfoot quivered. "I can't. James, I can't-"

"It's all right," Harry said, scared now. _What am I supposed to do when he's over there and I'm over here?!_"Just... just drink."

"I can't, Prongs." Short of tipping the damn thing down his throat - which Harry couldn't get over there to do anyway - Harry was out of options. Padfoot was hallucinating for Merlin's sake! He was in _pain_. What was Harry supposed to do? "Sorry," Padfoot murmured. "Oh, Lily, I'm so sorry. Reg... Reg, I tried, I should've made you come with me..."

"Padfoot - Sirius - I need you to listen to me," Harry said desperately.

"You've never exactly been easy to ignore, James," Padfoot said, sounding weak.

"I need you to drink."

"You drink it," Padfoot snapped. "It fucking hurts."

"I know, I'm sorry." Harry swallowed. "But please... for Da- Jam- er... me and Lily? For Reg? For Remus?" Padfoot whimpered. "And... er... Kreacher and Harry."

"Harry," he heard from the island. The mass of red moved closer to the basin again and then there was another scraping sound. Everything was silent again. Another few minutes filled only with gulps and moans passed.

If Harry had to guess, he would say Padfoot had had ten goblets now. _Surely it's nearly empty._.. Padfoot collapsed with a loud, rattling breath that echoed over the water and then everything was silent.

"No," Harry breathed. "No! Padfoot!" he shouted. There was no response. Padfoot's magic was very still, and dimmer than before. "Padfoot! Padfoot, wake up, wake up, please! _Please_." Still nothing. "_Finite Incantatem!_" Harry said urgently, waving his wand in Padfoot's direction.

It might have been the wrong spell, or it might have had something to do with the distance, but nothing happened.

"_Finite Incantatem!_ Please!" Harry took a step forward, thinking he'd swim if he had to, when Padfoot stirred. "Padfoot!"

"Water," Padfoot croaked.

"The rucksack," Harry said. "It's in the rucksack, Padfoot, and there's hot chocolate and-"

"Water's gone... I can't-" There was silence - Harry thought he heard the thermos open - and then, "I'm still thirsty. Really, really thirsty. I need... water. There's water here. A whole lake of it..."

"No!" Harry screamed, his voice cutting through the darkness. "No, no water!"

"But..."

"NO! Don't move!" The red mass stopped. Harry needed a way to distract him until he came back to his senses. "There's a locket in the basin," Harry said, thinking quickly. "Open it - the locket. There's a note, isn't there? What does it say?"

"My throat... Thirsty..."

"I know. The note'll make it better. It's... er... magic."

There were a few indistinguishable noises then: "T-to the Dark Lord..." Padfoot croaked. "I know I will be dead... long before... you read... this... but I want you... to know that... it was-it was... I... who discovered your... secret... I have... stolen... the real... H-Horcrux-" That was it, Harry knew. That was what they had come for. "-and... intend to... destroy it... as soon as... I can... I face death... in the... hope... that when you meet... your match... you will be... mortal...once... more... R...A...B..." Harry knew he'd never forget those words, even if he lived to be a hundred or older, even; Padfoot said wizards had longer life-spans than muggles. "It's not better... water..."

"No, you can't!"

"But-"

"Put the note back in the locket. Padfoot, I need you to put it back." He knew what the note said now and Regulus deserved to have Voldemort read that letter. Harry almost smiled at the thought.

"Can I-" Padfoot was gasping and his words caught in his throat, which sounded dry.

"Refill the basin," Harry said. "Please?"

"Done," Padfoot said a moment later. "Water. I need... please..." Harry could hear his breathing now, and it sounded painful. There was a flash of red and Padfoot's magic surged and then almost faded, but for a small, bright red core. He'd transformed; Harry could hear him panting, hear his claws on the stone.

"Sit!" he called desperately as Padfoot trotted toward the water. "Stay where you are! No!" It was too late, though. Padfoot had stuck his nose in the water and was lapping up as much as he could. "Padfoot, no!" Harry shouted, but the Inferi were already moving. One grabbed the dog around the neck.

Padfoot snapped at it and chased it back into the water with a weak growl. More were flocking to the island, though - the closest ones to Harry were now thirty yards away. The entire lake's surface was rippling.

Unbidden, Harry's mind flashed back to something he'd read in _When The Dead Walk_. Inferi often attacked the greatest threat first. At the moment, that was Padfoot - the bearlike dog was snapping at another one - but that could be changed.

_Don't do anything stupid_, Padfoot had said earlier.

_Yeah, well you didn't exactly listen when I told you not to drink_, Harry thought, frowning.

He summoned his courage, grabbed a firework and bellowed, "_Incendio!_" before tossing it into the air. It exploded a moment later in a shower of blue sparks above his head. He grabbed another firework and after lighting it, tossed it as far as he could toward the middle of the lake.

BANG! Green and red lights sizzled and popped and then hissed when they hit the water. Several of the Inferi were now drifting his way. _But not enough_, he thought, grimly.

He took a deep breath and then stepped forward and stuck the tip of his trainer into the edge of the lake. A few more of the eerie shapes were headed for him now. Harry took another deep breath, and ran out into the lake, planning to go until he was knee deep.

He skidded on a submerged rock and floundered in the water before he managed to find his feet again and sprinted back to the shore before anything could catch him.

Almost every Inferius in the lake was headed for him now. Padfoot was still fighting as a dog and he was having no trouble at all. It was Harry who needed to be worried, now, and he was. Fear threatened to overwhelm him, but they'd studied for this. They'd practiced. _Fire,_ he thought. _They hate fire_. _And light._

"_N-nox_," he whispered, through chattering teeth. His wandlight went out, though he could still see everything - the Inferi, really, were all that mattered - perfectly clearly with his magic-vision. "_Lumos Maxima,"_ he said a moment later as the first few got close enough to be a threat. The white, water-logged hands that had been reaching for him recoiled and their owners shrieked as white light bloomed out of his wand tip.

Harry quickly lit another firework and tossed it out in front of him while the creatures were distracted. It exploded and probably would have done him considerable damage if it weren't for Padfoot's Fire-Freezing Charm. As it was, he was knocked off his feet.

He scrambled back up and had a quick glance at the island. Padfoot was back in human form, stuffing things into the rucksack and every few seconds he'd blast an Inferius off the island and back into the water. Harry lit another firework and tossed it toward the edge of the lake.

The firecracker burst in a shower of multicoloured sparks, making more of the creatures shriek. Still, more were coming - far, far too many - and Harry was beginning to think that thinking he could handle them was not only optimistic but downright impossible.

"_Ventus_!" he shouted and sent two whizzing away. He could see several massing in one spot so he used another Wind Charm to send a firework in their direction.

"_Incendio Pila!_" he heard Padfoot shout. A moment later, a huge fireball exploded in front of Harry. The entire container of fireworks exploded and Harry was knocked over again.

This time he hit the wall, and with enough force that the wind was knocked out of him. His wand landed nearby. Harry struggled to get upright but couldn't. He did manage to wrap his fingers around his wand.

"_Incendio_," he gasped, pointing at the nearest Inferius. It burst into flames and Harry felt sick but the fire went out as soon as the creature dove back into the water. It went dark and then pale blue light burned his eyes.

He was forced to release his magic-vision and found himself staring up at the ghostly figure of an Inferius. It stank, like rotting fish, its hair was stringy, its teeth sharp - though most were missing - and its pale eyes were glazed over.

Harry crawled backwards, trying to get far enough away to be able to use his wand. "_Petrificus Totalus_," he yelled. It dropped with a thud but another moved forward to take its place, its robes hanging off in tatters, teeth bared in a feral smile.

It was a child, too, and couldn't have been older than nine when it died. _No older than I am..._ "_Pedis Offensio!_" he said frantically and it tripped. He backed away but its hand latched onto his arm and his back had just hit the cave wall.

Another fireball exploded closer to the water's edge - from Padfoot, which meant Padfoot was still alive, thankfully - but it wasn't close enough to help Harry.

_"Nox,_" he said, and waited until the creature had tightened its grip almost unbearably and then he screamed, "_Lumos Maxima!_" The Inferius screamed and Harry wrenched his arm free. His shoulder popped painfully and his arm began to tingle but he gritted his teeth, kicked it in the face and sent it soaring back to the lake with a Wind Charm.

"Harry! Where are you?!" Padfoot called hoarsely.

"H-here!" Harry called back, still shivering. He couldn't feel his left arm at all now, but it twinged every now and then with what he was sure was pain.

"Where's here!?" Harry saw another fireball go up and then he heard, "_Bombarda Maxima!_" Several Inferi flew into the air and landed with splashes.

"Here!" Harry shouted desperately. Harry got a glimpse of his godfather, who was held by three Inferi. "_Incendio!_" Harry shouted. One burst into flames, making the other let go, and Padfoot punched the third hard enough to _make_ it let go. Harry's eyes met his for a moment and then Padfoot started forward. A moment later he was obscured by a mass of white.

_How many are there!_? Harry wondered, horrified. A freezing hand tightened around his neck and Harry had to drop his wand to fight it off. Lights flashed in front of his eyes and he couldn't breathe.

His good hand scrabbled uselessly against the thing's rotting flesh. Harry tried to shout for help, but couldn't. Suddenly, it was gone altogether. Padfoot had come; Padfoot - in dog form - had tackled it to the ground, teeth bared, ears back.

The pair went skidding across the stone floor, Padfoot snapping, but then, somehow, it got its hand around his throat too. Harry picked up his wand but he couldn't think of a spell. Panic had blanked his mind. In desperation he dropped his wand again and grabbed its ankle, trying to pull it off.

His hand kept slipping on its slimy skin. Padfoot was human again and trying to prise its fingers off but he was slowly going red and he was struggling to breathe, struggling to say something, when- BANG!

All Harry saw was orange, and he wasn't cold anymore, he was burning, despite Padfoot's charm. It was uncomfortably hot and he could taste smoke, hear Inferi screaming, hear _Padfoot_ screaming and then his ears popped and he couldn't hear anything but Merlin did it hurt.

He landed roughly. He'd lost Padfoot, and the creature's ankle was gone from his grip as well. He felt pressure on his left arm, though he couldn't tell if it was Padfoot or an Inferius, hot or cold.

He grabbed his wand to try to fight it off but he was being squeezed, everything was being squeezed and he couldn't move, couldn't fight it off, and he was going to die...

And then it stopped.


	15. St Mungo's

"Padfoot," was the first thing Harry said. He opened his eyes and was dazzled by bright, fiery lights. He snapped his eyes shut again. He'd seen enough fire.

"Young Master, Master Harry." His ears were still ringing, so it sounded funny, but Harry recognised the voice.

"Kreacher?" Harry asked, aware of shuffling footsteps around him. Harry opened his eyes to see Kreacher looking terrified, wringing his hands together. He looked perilously close to tears. "What?" Harry croaked, recognising the hallway of Grimmauld Place. It was just the two of them.

"Kreacher?" Harry's voice was bordering on hysteric. "Kreacher, where's Padfoot?! Kreacher!? Kreacher where is he!?" The old elf came to pat Harry's back awkwardly and Harry appreciated the gesture but his back was far too sore to be petted.

"Kreacher is only following orders-" the elf began, his ears quivering.

"Where's Padfoot?!" Harry demanded, trying to look around the elf.

"Master is saying to bring Young Master to safety," Kreacher said, flinching.

"You mean- You didn't- He's not- He's not still there?!" The elf nodded slowly. "Why didn't you bring him with us?!" Harry shouted, his temper flaring. "He was right there!" Only he hadn't been; he and the Inferius had been blown back by the blast as surely as Harry had.

"Master is calling Kreacher and telling him to take Master Harry home, to be safe," Kreacher said, sniffing.

"No!" Harry shouted, his voice cracking. "No, he can't have stayed! That's why I distracted them in the first place! So that he'd get out! So we'd both get out!"

"Kreacher is just doing what he's being told," the elf wailed.

"I don't care! You should never have left him!" Harry yelled. "I didn't nearly die just to leave him there!" The lamps on the walls shattered. "It's not fair! He was supposed to make it out!" He turned to the elf. "Take me back!"

Kreacher screwed his face up. He was obviously fighting conflicting orders. Finally, his face relaxed. "Master is saying to be keeping Master Harry safe-"

"I don't give a damn! Take me back. Please!" Harry added desperately.

"Kreacher musn't be doing that, oh no," the elf said with more conviction now. Harry eyed his wand, which had slipped out of his fingers when they arrived. _Fine. Fine, I'll go myself, then_, he thought, determined, but then Kreacher snatched it up. "Kreacher promised," Kreacher said, sniffing again.

"We can't just leave him!" Harry shouted, reaching for it with his good arm. His back twinged. "Give me my wand! How am I supposed to fight them when you've got my wand!?" Kreacher vanished with a CRACK! and when he returned a few seconds later, Harry's wand was not with him. "Kreacher!" Harry bellowed. "Take me back!"

"Kreacher cannot be doing that, oh no," the elf said sadly. "Kreacher is to be keeping Master Harry safe."

Harry still couldn't move his left arm and he didn't have his wand but his magic was flaring out; the remaining lamps shattered, as did the majority of the crystals on the chandelier. They rained down on Harry and Kreacher and the elf hurriedly fabricated a shield to protect them. Harry wouldn't have cared if the crystal had hit them.

"Take me back," he ordered.

"No," Kreacher said, folding his arms.

"We can still save him!" Harry said urgently. He couldn't even stand up but he'd fight somehow. Kreacher's eyes filled with tears and he shook his ugly head. "It's not too late!" Kreacher looked uncomfortable. "It's not! Take me back! I can help him!"

The front door burst open and Mrs Black's horrid portrait dropped off the wall and she started screaming. More crystal fell and this time it did hit them. Kreacher stared, wide-eyed and pressed a hand to a cut on his cheek. Slowly, he raised his other hand and the door closed.

Harry was fuming, but the elf would not be persuaded. "No," he'd say each time. Harry knew he'd have to punish himself for it but he didn't really care. Kreacher had left Padfoot to die. He deserved it. Mrs Black screamed on.

"I'll walk then," he said and tried to stand, but he didn't seem able to. Kreacher watched him try and fail to stand for a bit; each time he fell, gasping, and once he landed on his left arm and couldn't stop himself from screaming. Kreacher sat with him and patted his right hand - since everything else hurt - until Harry was able to move again.

"Can you help me get into the study?" he said stiffly, since he couldn't do it himself. Kreacher looked delighted to have an order he could follow and let Harry grab his arm.

They reappeared in the middle of the room and even the smooth landing had Harry hissing in pain. Kreacher flapped about uselessly, not sure what was wrong. Harry wasn't sure himself, and only knew he was sore. The furniture had all been overturned and quite a few books had come off the shelves. Harry would fix that later.

"The window seat, please," Harry said. "I want to know when Padfoot gets home."

Kreacher looked at him worriedly but levitated him over to the window seat and set him down as gently as possible. Harry peered out at the street, half expecting to see Padfoot striding up at any moment. He didn't let the other half of him tell him about its expectations. Kreacher hovered nearby, peeking out occasionally too, but mostly he was sneaking worried looks at Harry. Finally, he announced he was going to get Harry something to eat.

"I forbid you to punish yourself," Harry called after him. He was still angry Kreacher hadn't taken him back but his anger wasn't at Kreacher anymore, just at the circumstances, and at Padfoot for getting himself left behind.

Padfoot still wasn't home after three hours of waiting. Had Harry felt up to it, he would have been pacing. He was feeling terrible, though, inside and out. Every part of him ached and he didn't think he'd ever felt so tired in his entire life. He felt guilty and nauseated and physically hurt as well; he was bruised everywhere and his throat was sore from being strangled.

His left arm still wasn't working. It wasn't broken, Harry didn't think, but he didn't know what was wrong with it. _It's all right. Padfoot will fix it when he gets home_. He'd told Kreacher the same thing too, whenever the elf expressed any concern over Harry's wellbeing.

Harry had also written out Regulus' note from memory; he could still hear Padfoot's voice asking for water, and reading the letter and he'd decided writing it down might make it go away. It hadn't, but it had been worth a try. He'd had Kreacher search the library for anything on Horcruxes, but since neither of them knew what they were, they weren't sure where to look and in the end, Harry had decided that could wait until Padfoot got home as well.

Harry fell asleep just after midnight, but not for long - he'd dreamed he was back in the cave and set one of the armchairs on fire. Kreacher had brought him more food which Harry turned down and they'd both sat by the window until morning. Hedwig had joined them at some point and perched on Harry's knee. She'd shed all of her baby feathers now and while Harry appreciated her company, it wasn't the company he wanted just then. He wanted his godfather.

"Kreacher, can you heal this?" Harry asked, wearily, pointing to a particularly painful bruise.

Kreacher shook his head. "Kreacher has been thinking... Kreacher talked to Mistress... Kreacher thinks Master Harry might be needing to see Healers."

"No," Harry said stubbornly. "It's fine. Padfoot can heal me when he gets home." Kreacher patted his knee - the one Hedwig wasn't resting on - and wandered out.

By mid-morning, Harry was starting to think he might need healing. He could walk again - just - but his back was stiff and bruised and his arm was starting to ache in a way Harry was fairly sure wasn't healthy. He called Kreacher back and asked him to retrieve the letter to Remus from Padfoot's bedroom. As he'd hoped, there was an address on it. _Outskirts of Peaslake_, Padfoot had written. _Small cottage at the edge of Hurtwood Forest._

Harry decided to leave the letter behind - Padfoot _would_ be back, so there was no need to transfer Harry into anyone else's care. He didn't bother taking anything with him - chances were it would be confiscated before it had a chance to be useful - and so just after lunch, Harry hobbled out of the study and into the hallway, where Kreacher was repairing the chandelier.

"Kreacher," Harry said quietly. Kreacher wandered over. "Can you take me to Remus Lupin's cottage at the edge of Hurtwood Forest? It's on the outskirts of Peaslake. Drop me and come home." Kreacher nodded. "Wait for Padfoot - tell him where I've gone as soon as he gets home-" Harry's voice wavered. "-all right?"

Kreacher offered Harry his arm.

* * *

Harry woke up disoriented. He was somewhere white, but his last memory was of Remus Lupin's doorstep.

"What?" he tried to say, though it came out garbled. His throat felt scratchy and someone pushed a cup of water into his hand. He took a sip, but all he could hear was Padfoot begging for water and the cup slipped out of his hand. He asked after his godfather but no one answered him and he fell asleep not long after.

* * *

The next time he opened his eyes it was to see who was fighting. He'd yet to work out where he was but there was a door and through it he could see two men arguing. One was a tall man with sandy hair - Harry thought he resembled what he remembered of Remus but couldn't be sure - while the other was equally tall with platinum blond hair and a haughty expression.

"Excuse me," Harry said quietly. The sandy haired man - it was indeed Remus - spun quickly. The other man grabbed his arm but Remus pushed him off.

"If you'll excuse me, Lucius," Remus said coolly.

"He's only allowed one visitor at a time," the blond - Lucius - said.

"Yes," Remus agreed, "and that would be me."

"You work for me," Lucius snapped.

"To find Harry. And I've done that. He's right there." Remus closed the door in Lucius' face. "How do you feel?" Remus asked kindly, sitting down beside Harry's bed.

"Tired," Harry said, yawning; now that things were quiet again, he thought he could go back to sleep. "It's nice to finally meet you, though, sir."

"Remus is fine, thank you, Harry."

"Nice to meet you anyway." He held out a limp hand, which Remus shook gently. "What happened?" Harry asked, staring at the older wizard's hand. His question came out garbled but Remus understood.

He flushed and shook his sleeve forward a few inches to cover the worst of the scarring. Now that Harry looked, there were scars on his face, too. _Like mine, _Harry thought sleepily, though there wasn't any particular shape to Remus', he had far more, and his were better healed; Harry's scar still looked fresh, even after almost eight years. "An... incident when I was younger," he said finally. "Nothing you need to be worried about."

"Okay," Harry murmured and yawned again. "Why'm I so tired?"

"Healing potions tend to take a lot out of you," Remus said, with a slight smile. "And the younger you are, the worse it is, I'm afraid."

"I'm not young," Harry murmured sleepily. "I'm nine."

"I know," Remus said. "But..."

Harry didn't hear the rest, but that was when the dreams of the cave started.

* * *

Harry woke on a number of other occasions - to drink potions for the Healers - he'd decided he was in St Mungo's - to eat, to go to the bathroom, or to talk to Remus. To begin with, the conversations were short and fairly awkward – Remus had wanted to know why, in his sleep, he shouted, "Fire, they hate fire," (a statement that was usually followed by Harry's accidental magic flaring and something catching fire) and "Take me back! I can help him!"; Harry had pretended not to remember the dreams, but he didn't think Remus bought the lie.

Despite that, they had quickly warmed to each other; Harry's only other company was a fussy Healer and the silent Aurors who guarded his door.

Lucius - the man Remus had fought with - had visited once but Harry hadn't liked him - his cold demeanour and colder eyes were rather off-putting - and had pretended to fall asleep. Lucius had stopped talking and left not long after.

Harry had had other visitors while he slept. Two he'd been disappointed to miss; Dumbledore, for obvious reasons, and also one of Remus' friends, who'd come by with a change of robes. Harry would have liked to meet one of the friends of his parents' old friend.

Two, he'd been relieved to have slept through; one from a hoarde of reporters from various publications (Remus told him they'd been terribly upset to find him asleep) and one from a Ministry woman from the Department of Management and Control of Magical Children.

He and Remus were joking about Healers, the terrible hospital food and bad tasting potions in no time, and then they moved onto more substantial conversations like what had happened after Harry arrived at his house, what sorts of things Harry could look forward to at Hogwarts in two year's time, what sorts of things Harry liked to do and what things Remus liked to do.

They never spoke about Padfoot, or Harry's life after leaving the Dursleys and Harry got the idea that Remus had been _told_ not to talk about it, rather than made the decision on his own; he'd just about swallowed his tongue when Harry asked him if Padfoot had been in the papers.

"No," Remus replied quickly. His brown eyes darted to the door and then back to Harry. "No one's heard anything." Harry wasn't sure if that was good or bad, given the last time he'd seen his godfather, he was trying to fight off several Inferi. _He's safe. He has to be_... _But then why hasn't he tried to visit, or sent Kreacher with a message? _an annoying little voice in the back of his head asked. _What if he's not all right? _"How are you feeling?"

"Fine," Harry said. "Why am I still here?"

"Because no one knows what to do with you," Remus said, smiling slightly. "Short of locking you up in a vault at Gringotts, we don't know how to keep you safe."

"Safe? Am I in danger?"

Remus shifted. "You clearly don't see Sirius as a threat, Harry, but the rest of us-"

"He's not dangerous," Harry said hotly.

"You're the only one that can vouch for that," Remus said gently.

"That's because you didn't listen the first time," Harry muttered. "You tried to capture him."

Remus' expression flickered. "I'd be willing to talk to him now," he said. Harry couldn't tell if he was lying or not. "If you could set up a meeting place for the two-"

"Three," Harry corrected quietly. "Three of us."

"Harry, that wouldn't be safe," he said.

"Yeah, because I might get in the way while you try to curse him!" Harry said.

"Harry-" Remus began. Harry glared at him and Remus sighed loudly and closed his mouth. Harry rolled over into his pillows. "Harry," Remus said again a moment later. Harry ignored him and made a quiet snoring sound. "I know you're awake," Remus told him, but Harry ignored him.

"Remus." The speaker was behind Harry and though he didn't turn around to see who it was, he was curious about the owner of the deep, calm voice.

"Sir," Remus said.

"He's asleep?"

"He was pretending to begin with, but I think he might be now. Then again, maybe not; he usually chatters. A lot like James, really."

The other man let out a quiet sigh. "I'd hoped to speak with him before tomorrow."

_Tomorrow?_ Harry wondered, his breath catching. He remembered to let out a snore, just in case Remus was paying attention.

"Should I wake him up?" Remus asked.

"No, let him sleep for now. If you could fetch me once he's awake, though-"

"Of course."

Harry made another snoring sound. "Has he said anything?"

"Not really. Something about Sirius being a wonderful godfather. He saw right through my offer to meet up with him. It was strange, though, sir, because he said something about getting in the way if I tried to curse him."

"Words and actions are two very different things, Remus."

"I know, sir, but when I found them in London it was similar; Harry was trying to _protect_ Sirius, not get away from him." The other man made a thoughtful sound. "It's just... strange." They were both quiet - Harry snored - and then Remus said, "Sir, do you think it's possible we might be missing something? Children are perceptive. If-"

"There was a time where you too would have stepped between Sirius and a curse," the man said gently. "And a child is far easier to lie to than a friend of ten years."

"Right," Remus said, his voice oddly thick. "I'm sorry, it was a stupid question."

"I've yet to hear a stupid question, and I do not think there is anything wrong with wishful thinking, dear boy, but one must remind himself not to drift out of reality." There was a sigh, but Harry couldn't tell who it had come from. "Our ability to use magic has enabled us to see possibilities where muggles perhaps could not," the man said, "but it has also blinded us to impossibilities, which muggles, I'm afraid, are all too capable of seeing."

The other man left shortly after - Harry heard him exchange a few polite words with the Aurors outside - but Remus stayed behind. His breathing was very slow and very deep, and every now and then he would make a soft shuddering sound. It took Harry a moment to realise he was crying. Harry almost moved to speak to him but bit down on his tongue and snored again.

He had a lot to think about.

* * *

Harry gasped and opened his eyes. The cave faded into his hospital room. Remus was snoring quietly in the chair beside the bed, and the empty chair beside his was smoking. Harry muttered a curse he'd heard Padfoot use once and tossed his glass of water on it. It hissed. Harry sighed and collapsed back into his pillows.

Remus' watch said it was eleven o'clock but in Harry's sterile hospital room, it was impossible to tell whether it was morning or night because there were no windows.

Harry had come to a conclusion about two things. Firstly, he needed to get home and back to Padfoot, who might or might not be there and who might or might not be alive. Secondly, he would do what he could for Remus. From the conversation he'd overheard the night before, he was confident Remus would be willing to listen to the truth and perhaps even believe it.

Padfoot had given him specific instructions never to talk to anyone about it until they had Peter as proof, or - Merlin forbid - Padfoot was caught and needed to testify. If the truth was spread around, people would have time to find reasons why it couldn't have happened, and Padfoot would be sent back to Azkaban. Harry had decided, though, that Remus deserved to know and thought - whether he believed it or not - that he would keep the story quiet.

He eyed Remus, wondering if it would be rude to wake him up. He cleared his throat. Remus snorted quietly and mumbled something. Harry's eyes narrowed and he cleared his throat again, louder this time. Remus twitched and his eyes opened slowly.

"I must have dozed off," he said, smoothing his creased occurred to Harry that Remus had been wearing those same robes for three days now and the ones he'd been wearing before that had been the ones he'd been in when Harry arrived on his doorstep. "Have you been home since you brought me here?"

"No, but Matt's planning to come by at some point today with a clean set of robes," Remus said with a smile. His smile faded and was replaced by a more intense look. "I don't think I've told you, but did you know you have your mother's eyes?"

"I've been told," Harry said, with a smile as he noted Remus' suspiciously bright eyes. "And I look like Dad, right?"

"Right," Remus said, smiling again. He got up and stretched. "I'm just going to go let Dumbledore know you're awake and then I'll be back; he's been waiting to speak with you all morning. Would you like anything?" He eyed the smouldering chair. "More water?"

"Yes, please," Harry said. "And food?"

Remus chuckled and left. Harry's thoughts drifted to Padfoot again and whether he was home. Surely he was... if not..._ No, he has. He's there. He's the one waiting on me, now, surely. Either way I won't know until I get home... _If Remus believed him, he could probably borrow a few sickles for the Knight Bus and be at Grimmauld in a few hours.

Remus returned not long after with a cup of water and a packet of crisps, both of which he offered to Harry. "Here." Harry stared at the water, hearing Padfoot's begging, but he really was thirsty and he downed it all in a mouthful. The crisps didn't last long either. "Do you enjoy living with your godfather?" Remus asked carefully.

Harry's eyebrows rose; he hadn't been expecting Remus to talk about this, but it would certainly lead into the conversation he needed to have.

"Well, yeah."

Remus seemed to be expecting a longer answer. When Harry didn't offer anything else he asked, "Does he tell you much about your parents?"

Harry nodded. "Loads. I feel... almost like I know them, now, I guess." Harry thought Remus had been surprised to hear that too, though he hid it well.

"Is that good or bad?"

He shrugged. "Both. It was weird to not know anything about them but then, the more I learn, the more I miss what I could have had, I suppose."

Remus' smile was sad. A frown flickered over his worn features before he hid it behind a calm expression. "Not know anything about them?"

"The Dursleys weren't about to talk about it," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "I didn't even know what magic was until I met Padfoot. The Dursleys told me Dad was a drunkard and that Mum was a freak; not right in the head was Uncle Vernon's way of putting it."

"James- a- a drunkard?!" Remus exclaimed. He didn't seem to know whether to laugh, cry or hit something.

"Padfoot told me he was an Auror and Mum was a Healer."

"At least he was honest about something," Remus muttered.

"He's been honest about a lot of things," Harry said, folding his arms.

"You do know that Sirius – Padfoot to you-"

"And you," Harry couldn't help adding.

"That was a long time ago," Remus said quietly. "Did he tell you he broke out of prison?"

"It was one of the first things he told me when I met him."

"You do know that breaking out of prison is illegal, don't you, Harry?" Remus said strictly. Padfoot always had said he'd been one to follow rules.

"Well, yeah, but not in this case."

"What do you mean?"

"He shouldn't have gone to prison in the first place," Harry said, "so, really, he's not breaking any laws by leaving a place he's not supposed to be."

"Why wasn't he supposed to be there?"

Harry's heart began to race. _This is it..._ "Because he didn't do it."

"I'm afraid I can't agree with you there," Remus said, anger seeping into his voice.

"He was framed!"

"By who?" Remus asked, sounding curious though his tone was still hard.

"Peter," Harry spat.

"Peter?" Remus said, sounding too surprised to be angry. "Peter's dead. Sirius... he... killed him." Harry opened his mouth to protest but Remus pressed on. "There was a charm set up, called the Fidelius Charm. What it does is-"

"I know what a Fidelius Charm is," Harry said, fighting to hide a smile.

Remus frowned. "Then Sirius must have told you he was the Secret Keeper. He was the only person who knew and could reveal James and Lily's location."

"He wasn't. They swapped."

"Who swapped?"

"Padfoot. He thought Peter would be the perfect Secret Keeper because no one would suspect him. He planned for Voldemort to come after him, but even if he was caught, Mum and Dad would be safe."

"Sirius told you that Peter was the Secret Keeper?" Remus repeated. Harry nodded. "Did he tell you he was at my house the night Lily and James were...?"

"Who, Peter?"

"No, Sirius."

"Yeah, he said you were sick." Remus' eyebrows disappeared into his hairline. Harry ignored this. "He left because he had a bad feeling about Peter and wanted to see that everything was okay... and it wasn't."

"Peter's dead, though," Remus said.

"He isn't."

"Peter wasn't a spy. He wasn't brave enough."

"Yeah, so no one would suspect him."

"Sirius was the Secret Keeper," Remus said. "Everyone knew... it was always going to be him."

"Which is why he swapped," Harry said. "I mean, it's a bit pointless if everyone knows, isn't it?"

"Peter's dead," Remus repeated, looking quite flustered. "Sirius is guilty."

"Remus?" There was an old, bearded man standing in the doorway of Harry's room. "Are you feeling well?"

"I think I need some fresh air," Remus said, getting up. Harry couldn't blame him. Padfoot always said his life had ended that Halloween night and Harry was fairly sure Remus' had too. Talking about it couldn't be any easier for Remus than it was for Padfoot.

"Moony," Harry called as he left. Remus stiffened and turned. Harry looked suspiciously at the old man, not yet sure whether he could trust him or not. "He's not dead. You just think he is because it wasn't... er... Peter... who got away."

"Harry, I'm afraid I don't know what you mean," Remus said, looking tired.

"It was Wormtail," Harry said significantly.

"Wormtail?" Remus repeated. "As in _Wormtail_?"

Harry glanced at the old man again. "He... erm... _ratted_ them out," he said, trying to be cryptic, yet make sure Remus understood.

It seemed Remus did. "You're sure?" he asked, having gone exceptionally pale. He looked close to fainting, but there was also something in his brown eyes that hadn't been there all week. It looked suspiciously like hope.

"Positive," Harry said. The old man was looking between them, confused.

"So... man's best friend...?"

"Was just that," Harry said nodding. "The best friend."

"And all that time spent in... the kennel...?"

"He shouldn't have been there." Remus nodded and fled the room.

"Well, you two certainly had a lot to say to each other," the bearded man said, taking Remus' empty seat.

"Yes, sir," Harry replied, since he didn't know the man's name.

"He's been keeping you company, I believe?" Suddenly, Harry recognised the voice. This was the man who had come to talk to Remus while Harry had pretended to sleep.

"Yes, sir."

"Why is it you went to his home last week, Harry?" the man asked, leaning forward. His blue eyes seemed to see through Harry.

"He was a friend of my parents'," Harry said uneasily. _And Padfoot's._

"He was indeed. He, your father, another boy called Peter-" Harry managed to suppress a growl just in time. "-and Sirius Black were thick as thieves, to coin a muggle phrase."

"You knew them too?" Harry asked, interested. _It seems everyone in the Wizarding world knew my parents._

"I did. I was the Headmaster at the school they attended."

"You're Dumbledore," Harry said.

"I am indeed," Dumbledore said, his blue eyes twinkling. It seemed hard to believe that this cheerful, grandfatherly man could be the same one Padfoot had always talked about with reverence. That he was the only man Voldemort had ever feared. The old man sighed. "I must admit, I was hoping to meet you under better circumstances."

"I wasn't planning to meet you for a few years, yet," Harry said, a little apologetically.

"And yet here we are. Odd how these things happen, isn't it?" Dumbledore said pleasantly. Two women and a man appeared in the doorway. The man was short and round, with rumpled grey hair and a lime green bowler hat. He was wearing the oddest assortment of clothing Harry had ever seen; a pinstriped suit, scarlet tie, a long blue travelling cloak and bright purple boots.

One of the witches accompanying him looked equally strange; she was a short, squat witch who looked rather like a toad, and must have been in her early thirties but she was dressed like a six-year-old girl, with a pink bow in her curly hair and a matching dress and cardigan ensemble. The other witch had a square jaw, short blond hair that was turning grey, and was wearing a plain black robe with buttons that reached her throat.

"Oh my," said the square-jawed witch when she spied Harry. The look of shock and sadness she wore softened her tough expression immediately. "He looks so much like James." Harry was beginning to think his father had known everyone there was to know. The witch shook herself. "Sorry. My name is Amelia Bones, Mr Potter. I'm from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

"Hi," Harry said, wiping his sweaty palms on his blanket.

"Dolores Umbridge," the other witch said in a girlish voice. "Department of Management and Control of Magical Children, and Junior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic." Harry nodded, fairly sure it was her visit he'd pretended to sleep through.

"Cornelius Fudge, Mr Potter," said the wizard, puffing out his chest. "Minister for Magic."

"Nice to meet you, sir," Harry said, feeling very nervous now.

"We have a few questions, for you, Harry," Amelia Bones said, conjuring herself a chair beside Dumbledore's. Dolores Umbridge conjured one for herself, and one for the Minister. "Do you need to use the bathroom or have something to eat or drink before we begin?"

"No, I'm all right, thanks."

Amelia Bones nodded and produced a blank piece of parchment, a quill and a little pot of ink from somewhere in her robes. "Very well. Now, some of this may be difficult for you to talk about, but please try to answer to the best of your ability."

"Answer what?" Harry asked warily.

"Some questions we have," Bones said patiently. "Please try to answer to the best of your ability."

Harry swallowed. "All right."


	16. Questions And Answers

Icy hands tightened around his throat. Sirius had no choice but to transform back so that he'd be able to use his own hands and try to get the wretched thing off. He couldn't. It was too strong and that foul brew of Voldemort's was hardly a Pepper-Up Potion. His vision was already flickering. It was only a matter of time before he was unconscious.

His eyes flicked to his godson; Harry had latched onto the Inferius' ankle and was trying to pull it off. It wasn't working terribly well, but it was a nice sentiment. _Have to...get him out,_ he thought, glancing at Harry again as he tried to pry the Inferius off.

"Kreacher," he managed to gasp. There was a pause and then the archway flared silver. Kreacher stumbled through, clutching his arm, and his bulbous eyes locked with Sirius'. "Help," Sirius wheezed. Kreacher lifted his hands and the world caught fire. The Inferius holding Sirius screeched and loosened its hold. "Get Harry, Kreacher! Get Harry home! Get him-" It was then that Kreacher's fire, which had been burning steadily, exploded.

Sirius was immediately thankful that he'd put Fire-Freezing Charms on Harry and himself; if he hadn't, they'd both certainly be dead by now. Sirius saw Harry flung away and then he too was soaring. He landed in the lake and lay stunned for a moment but he didn't stick around; the Inferi were stumbling blindly, shrieking in pain as they tried to get back to the water and he knew from Auror training to take every advantage he was given, even if moving was the last thing he felt like. He saw Harry and Kreacher vanish but everything else was so loud he hardly heard it.

He snatched his wand off of the ground ran for the archway. He stumbled a few times and was sorely tempted to just stay there and let death claim him. Then, he'd shook his head and forced himself up again. He wiped his cheek on the stone - he had a nasty cut there - and bolted through the second it cleared.

He tried to Disapparate, couldn't, and so he walked reluctantly into the pool, took a deep breath and dove under. The water was freezing and Harry's rucksack, light as it was with only chocolate and empty containers, was doing its best to weigh him down. He was cold, sore, out of breath and had swallowed a hell of a lot of sea water when he clambered out onto a rocky outcrop.

He couldn't move, couldn't stand. He was violently sick and that - if it was possible - made him feel even worse. The last thing he felt like doing was Apparating, but he knew Harry would be worrying and would probably do something stupid, like go back to the cave if Sirius didn't get home. Sirius pushed himself up onto his hands and knees and did an awkward little twist, unable to even stand before he Disapparated.

He ended up in a hallway that vaguely resembled his own and sighed, relieved, tucking his wand back into his pocket. He heard footsteps running toward him and managed a smile; Harry was safe. Then, he passed out.

* * *

"Your name is Harry James Potter, is that correct?"

"Yes," Harry said, though he did wonder what would have happened if he said no.

"You're nine years old?"

"As of three weeks ago."

"You grew up with your muggle relatives in Little Whinging?"

"Yes," Harry said again.

"And you were kidnapped earlier this year by Sirius Black?"

"No," Harry said.

"Liar," Umbridge said, her eyes bulging. "You have been living with Black!"

"I never said I hadn't," Harry answered coolly. "I just said I wasn't kidnapped."

"How would you explain what happened to you, Mr Potter?" Bones asked after silencing her colleague with a glare.

"He offered me a different home and I agreed," Harry said, all too aware of Dumbledore's piercing eyes resting on his face.

"Why did you agree?" Bones pressed, her quill scribbling furiously.

"Because he's my godfather and I wanted to."

"He didn't threaten you or your family in any way?"

"You mean the Dursleys? They were really the ones threatening him."

"And how do you explain your condition, Mr Potter?"

"What condition?"

"When Mr Lupin brought you here a week ago, you were in rather poor health," Bones said, picking at her robes. "Are you aware you had strangle marks on your neck, and extensive bruising on your back?"

Harry almost laughed. Almost. "Yeah, I am," he said. "Why?"

"Did your godfather give you those?"

"Of course not!" Harry growled.

"How about the hand prints on your arms?"

"No."

"So you don't know how you got them?" Umbridge asked disbelievingly.

"Er... No, I do."

"Do share," Bones said.

"No, thanks."

"If you're being abused," Umbridge began, "then-"

"I'm not," Harry said, cutting her off. "What's the next question?" There was a pause and Harry wondered if they'd let him off without an explanation.

"Can you explain the dreams you have?" Harry stifled a groan; that was an even worse question. "Your Healer tells us you're a fitful sleeper and that you... say things." Harry's stomach had taken up residence in his feet. What had he said? He swallowed his fear, however, and merely shrugged.

"Do I?" he asked.

"Yes," Umbridge said. "And set things on fire."

"That's odd," Harry said flatly. No one pressed the issue. He wiped his sweaty palms on the bedsheets.

"Where have you been living?" the Minster asked, excited. There was a collective intake of breath from all of the adults as they waited for his answer.

"I can't tell you."

Fudge swelled but was silenced by one of Umbridge's hands on his arm. "You can trust us," she said, with a smile that Harry saw as predatory. "We want to help you, Mr Potter, but we can't do that unless you trust us."

Harry met her eyes, unafraid and was pleased to see her recoil slightly. "Come now, Harry," Fudge said with a false laugh. "We're on your side, the good side. All we want is for you to be safe and sound and to have Black back where he belongs."

"Where's that?" Harry asked.

"Azkaban, of course," Fudge said, looking a little flustered.

"Then I'm afraid our definitions of where P-Sirius belongs differ, Minster."

"He's a criminal!" Umbridge snapped. "A danger to the wizarding world and to you! Where is he hiding?!"

_Oh, yes, awfully dangerous. The man only tackled an Inferius for me. _"I can't tell you," Harry said, unable to decide if he was having fun, or if he was terrified.

"Are you aware that by not telling us, you're breaching Wizarding Law?" Bones said sternly.

"Yes," Harry replied, crossing his arms defiantly.

Everyone was quiet and then Dumbledore spoke, changing tact. "Are you aware that your godfather has done terrible things, Harry?"

"I know you think he has." Harry knew he was pushing it but he wasn't about to tell them everything and he certainly wasn't going to lie down and let them bully him into telling them.

Dumbledore opened his mouth and then closed it. "Madam Bones, Madam Umbridge, Headmaster," Fudge said, standing. "I would like to speak with you outside."

Harry watched as the four of them left the room, and as Fudge dismissed the Aurors on guard. _I don't like this at all_, he thought, as the door clicked shut. He stayed in his bed, trying not to worry until he heard shouting from outside. Quickly, he peeled back his covers and crept to the door, pressing his ear against the crack at the bottom.

Fudge was talking. "But that's just it, Dumbledore! He's a child! He won't be able to defend against it!"

"He's a child!" Dumbledore thundered. "Cornelius, as Minister, you have a moral duty to-"

"Hem hem."

"Dolores?" Dumbledore asked politely.

"It's not illegal," Umbridge's voice said primly. Harry had to strain his ears to hear her.

"No, it's not, but it's frowned upon, Minster," Bones said, sounding upset.

"No one needs to know," Fudge said earnestly. "He won't be hurt, he won't know what's happening and we'll have Black. Surely that's worth it, Dumbledore?"

"The boy will think he's betrayed his godfather," Dumbledore said quietly.

"Let him," Umbridge said. "It's for the best."

"He seems to genuinely care for Black," Bones said softly. "He'd be crushed!"

"It's for the best," Fudge insisted. "The boy is clearly misinformed about Black's past, or he would have been itching to tell us everything."

"There are no long term effects," Umbridge said.

"No physical ones, perhaps," Dumbledore said. "But mentally? The mind of a child is a fragile thing. There are reasons there are laws against teaching children Occlumency and administering anything more than a brush of Legillimency-"

"It's Veritaserum, not Legillimency!" Harry didn't know what either of those things were but neither sounded as if they'd be good for him. "And we'll feed it to him, not simply go charging into his head!"

"It takes away Harry's free will!" Bones said.

"His free will is uncooperative! What choice do we have?! We can't afford to have Black on the loose, Dumbledore. He's a danger. This is the closest we've come to a lead on Black since the Lupin fiasco in May! You can't just expect me to leave it! I'd be sacked!"

"You could be sacked for using Veritaserum on a minor," Dumbledore said quietly.

"It's a chance I'll have to take," Fudge said. There was silence and then, "Come now, Dumbledore. I don't _like_the idea-" _Could have fooled me_, Harry thought darkly. "-but I don't have a choice!"

"We always have choices, Cornelius." But Fudge had won. Harry was sure of it.

Harry scrambled back into bed as the voices in the corridor died down. His eyes darted all over the room, but it was futile. There was no way to escape; there were no windows, no holes or vents in the ceiling or walls and the only door other than the one that Harry had been listening at was the one into his bathroom. Short of flushing himself down the toilet, he didn't have anywhere to go.

Panic bubbled away inside him as he waited. He had a few stressful minutes to ponder what he was going to do before Dumbledore, Bones, Fudge and Umbridge returned. The last was holding a tea tray.

"Ah, good," Fudge said. "You're still here."

"Where else would I be?" Harry asked, glaring mistrustfully at him. At least Dumbledore and Bones had _tried_ to defend him.

Fudge looked stumped and Harry swore Dumbledore's beard twitched. No one spoke, but Umbridge busied herself fussing with the tea – no doubt adding the Veritaserum, whatever _that _was- and Bones picked lint off her robes. Harry watched Umbridge, trying to stay calm, but inside, he was screaming.

His eyes kept flicking to the door but he doubted he could get there before one of the four stopped him. And it probably wouldn't go down terribly well. A small, irrational part of his mind kept praying that Padfoot would come and save him, but that wasn't likely. Padfoot might not even be hom- _He's there. He has to be._ _And I have to be there too._

"Tea's ready," Umbridge said perkily. _I'll bet it is_, Harry thought, glaring at her. One of the teacups shattered. She screamed, and the other three jumped, startled. _That was me_, Harry realised. He tried to make another one break but couldn't. Umbridge mopped herself up and plastered her smile back on. "I do hope you're thirsty, Mr Potter."

"Not really," Harry said, trying to be nonchalant. Whatever was in there would make him betray Padfoot. He wasn't even going to smell it.

There was a knock on the door outside. "Professor Dumbledore? Harry?" It was Remus. He was wearing different robes than before. "Is everything all right in there?" _No!_ Harry shouted mentally. _It bloody well isn't!_The door opened and Remus walked in, looking worried. If Harry wasn't used to living with Padfoot, he probably would have missed the near silent sniffing noises Remus was making. _He's a wolf Animagus_, Harry remembered. _So he can smell how I'm feeling._

"Sorry," he said, spotting Harry's 'guests'. "I didn't mean to interrupt..." He gave Harry a questioning look and Harry, for only a second, let his fear show on his face, and let his eyes flick toward the tea tray. Remus frowned and looked back to Dumbledore. "I just...er..."

Dumbledore seemed to understand that he had smelled something too, though how, Harry didn't know. Padfoot had said no one knew about their Animagus forms.

"It's quite all right, Remus," he said. "We were just about to have tea, if you'd care to join us. You know Amelia and Cornelius, I believe." Remus nodded. "This is Madam Dolores Umbridge from the Department of Management and Control of Magical Children. Dolores, this is Remus Lupin."

Umbridge stiffened and looked at Dumbledore as if he was mad. And then she looked at Remus, seeming revolted and afraid all at once.

"A pleasure," Remus said curtly.

"Indeed. Tea, Mr Potter?" Umbridge said, holding a cup out toward him.

"No, thank you," Harry said, noticing Remus was staring at the teacup; he must have smelled it as it went past him. He looked up at Harry, a little concerned.

"Perhaps something else, then? You must be thirsty."

"No, I-"

"Come now, Mr Potter. Pick something."

Harry knew it was only a matter of time before they forced him to drink it. "Well... the tea's already made, I suppose."

"It is indeed," Umbridge said brightly, passing him the cup. He managed to take it with steady hands, but only just. "Drink up." Harry shifted in his bed, bringing his blanket covered knees up between him and the others. He pretended to take a sip and then set the cup down in his lap.

"Good, isn't it?" Fudge asked. Harry nodded. "Drink it before it gets cold." Harry took another pretend sip, but this time he couldn't stop his hands from shaking and slopped some of the tea onto his sheets. The white material quickly turned a pale brown.

"Careful!" Umbridge squawked.

Harry took another sip, and this time, instead of spilling the tea, he dabbed a corner of the sheet in. Its absorbed more tea. Harry quickly folded it to hide the mess.

"Are you sure there's not anything you can tell us about your godfather?" Bones asked gently.

"Positive," Harry muttered, dipping another section of the sheet into the tea.

"Are you drinking?" Fudge asked, looking concerned. Harry showed him the almost empty teacup. "Good, good. Where have you been living?"

"It's a secret," Harry said. He took another pretend sip and then set the cup down on the table beside his bed.

"I'm the Minister for Magic, Harry," Fudge said, brightly. "If you can't trust me, who can you trust?" Harry didn't miss the little frown on Dumbledore's wizened face.

"I don't know, sir," he said.

The adults exchanged glances. "Well?" Fudge asked. He was twirling his bowler hat in his hands. "Where is Black hiding?"

Harry thought, very quickly and made a decision. "Do you know what a Fidelius Charm is, Minister?" he asked quietly.

Everyone seemed to slump. Harry felt a little thrill. They had, of course, assumed that Padfoot was the Secret Keeper. They'd be more determined than ever to find him now, but they wouldn't find him unless Harry told them where to look. "Yes, I'm familiar with it," Fudge sighed. "Amelia, would you-"

"Scrimgeour?" Fudge inclined his head. "Of course, Minister, I'll inform him at once. It was a pleasure to meet you, Harry." She nodded at the others and strode out.

"Who's Scrimgeour?" Harry asked.

"Is he here in London, Harry?" Fudge pressed. "Can you tell us that?"

Harry opened his mouth and then closed it again; he didn't want to tell them too much. "I can't say," he said after a moment.

"Do you go to Diagon Alley often?"

"Not really. I've been three times."

"How long did it take you to get there?"

Harry shrugged. "It was different each time." And it had been; the first was from the Dursleys, the second was from Grimmuald, but Padfoot had Apparated them and the third time had been through the Floo Network.

Fudge's face fell, but not for long. "Can you describe the house?" Harry shook his head.

"Is it in a muggle neighbourhood?" Umbridge asked.

"Yeah," Harry said cautiously.

Fudge looked ready to burst with excitement. "What's nearby? Any distinctive buildings or landmarks?"

"There's... er... a bus stop," Harry lied. "And a... big tree."

"What kind of tree?"

"I don't know."

"Does Black ever meet with anyone? Any of the Death Eaters?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "No."

"Does he write many letters?"

"No."

"Do you know anything that might help us catch him?"

"No."

"Do you want Sirius caught, Harry?" Dumbledore asked softly.

"_No_," Harry said.

"Well," Umbridge said. "Admirable as your loyalty is, you might want to think about the fact that he doesn't seem to mind that _you've_ been caught, Mr Potter. Would he protect you just as well if the situations were reversed, do you think?"

"Yes," Harry said without hesitation.

She looked irritated. "I think we're done here. Minister?"

"Yes, I think so. Thank you, Harry. Dumbledore, you'll stay with him?" Fudge asked.

"I'm afraid I'm needed at the school," Dumbledore said, standing. "Term starts next week, after all. Remus, could you-?"

"Of course, sir," Remus said. "I'll stay with Harry, Minister."

Umbridge didn't look happy about _that_ at all, but Harry didn't much care what she thought. "Very well," Fudge said. He put his bowler hat back on top of his head. "I'll walk you out. Dolores, are you heading back to the Ministry?"

"No, Minister," Umbridge said. "But I could use a walk."

"We'll be off then," Dumbledore said cheerfully. "It was wonderful to meet you, Harry."

"You too, sir," Harry said, smiling at Dumbledore, whom he'd decided he liked.

"I'll be in tomorrow, I think."

Harry nodded. Fudge offered Harry his hand. Harry shook it cautiously. "Goodbye, Harry. Thank you for your cooperation today." Harry nodded again but it was a rather jerky motion. Fudge didn't seem to notice.

"I'll be back soon, Mr Potter," was all Umbridge said. Harry, who remembered she worked with magical children, didn't like the sound of that at all.

"All right," he said. "Bye."

Dumbledore swept out with Fudge just behind. Umbridge gave Remus one nasty look and flounced out after them. The door clicked shut. Remus, who had been sitting rather stiffly, relaxed, but only slightly.

"Were you telling the truth about Sirius and Peter, earlier?" he asked, looking nervous.

"Yes."

Remus took a deep breath and a relieved smile spread across his face, followed almost immediately by a troubled, sympathetic look. "It wasn't your fault, you know."

"What?"

"The tea. It _made _you say those things. You had no way of contr-"

"The tea didn't make me say anything," Harry said. "I only pretended to drink."

"You knew," he said sounding shocked. "I did wonder when I sme- saw how worried you were, but when you accepted it and started to drink I thought you mustn't know after all. So you lied?"

"Lied?"

"The potion - Veritaserum, it's called - is a truth serum. You'll tell anyone anything they ask."

Harry stared at the cup and fervently thanked Merlin and the Hogwarts founders that he hadn't consumed any. "You could smell it, couldn't you?" he asked.

"Veritaserum doesn't have a smell," Remus said quietly. Harry frowned at him. He smiled a little ruefully. "It doesn't. That's what tipped me off. Even water has a smell but Veritaserum smells like... nothing."

Another question presented itself to him. "Dumbledore knew you could smell it," he said, frowning.

"He did, yes," Remus said slowly.

"Why does Dumbledore know you're an Animagus, but doesn't know about my dad, Padfoot or Pettigrew?"

"What makes you think I'm an Animagus?" Remus asked, looking stunned.

"Padfoot told me," Harry said.

"Did he now?" Remus muttered.

"Well?" Harry asked. "Why does Dumbledore know?"

"What makes you think he does?" Harry gave him a flat stare. Remus smiled. "You look an awful lot like James when you do that." Harry grinned. "And even more like him when you do that," Remus said, laughing. "I'll bet you drive Padfoot up the walls."

"You called him Padfoot," Harry said, instantly sidetracked.

Remus looked stunned and then nodded. "I-I suppose I did."

"So you believe me?"

He let out a noisy breath. "I hope you realise that by telling me what you told me earlier, you forced me to rethink the past eight years of my life." Harry grimaced. "But yes, I do. I've always somewhat questioned Sirius' ability to kill James and Lily but I've never been able to find another explanation, any other way it could have happened... they hadn't even talked about swapping, though. Not to me, anyway." His tone was slightly bitter.

"That's Padfoot's second biggest regret," Harry said quietly. Remus raised an eyebrow. "The first is swapping Secret Keepers, obviously, but the second is not telling you straight away; Dad wanted to, but Mum wanted to do it in person. I think you were supposed to have lunch or dinner or something the next day, where they would have told you-" Harry realised he was babbling and clamped his mouth shut.

"Dinner," Remus whispered. "It was dinner." He cleared his throat. "I have a question."

"Yeah?"

"Well, they found Peter's finger..."

Harry wrinkled his nose. "Padfoot thinks he cut it off after he blew up the street."

Remus closed his eyes and nodded. "And then he'd have escaped into the sewers, right?"

"Yes, actually."

"And Sirius laughed. That's what the reports say. That he laughed." Remus opened his eyes. "I think I'd laugh too if I was outsmarted by Peter." He sighed. "Why didn't we see it before? He was a rat!"

"Padfoot said something similar."

"I'll bet he did." Remus sighed. "Harry, I don't believe he would have, but I have to ask... It wasn't Sirius who injured you, was it?"

"No," Harry said. Remus looked relieved, but not terribly surprised. "Why do people keep asking that?"

"Will you tell me what it was that did hurt you?"

"Er... I don't think so, no," Harry said.

Remus frowned suddenly. "Where is Sirius?" he asked and Harry knew he wasn't asking where they'd been living, but rather why Sirius hadn't been the one to give Harry medical help or take him to the Healers.

"Why?" Harry asked defensively, fighting to keep a calm expression.

"Because from the way you talk about him, and the way you defend him and the way you defended each other that day in London, I think it's reasonable to deduce you care about each other." Harry nodded. "And from what I knew - or know, I suppose - of Sirius, he wouldn't leave you in the state you arrived at my cottage in unless he was incapable of doing something about it, or didn't know about it, and I highly doubt it was the latter."

Harry shrank into his pillows. "We were separated," he said.

"I'd worked out that much. What happened?"

"I can't- I don't know if I'm allowed to say," Harry said, fiddling with a lose thread on his pillowcase.

Remus let out a gusty breath. "Is there any way you can contact him?"

_Kreacher_, was Harry's first idea. He'd considered calling the elf several times in the past week but they'd be able to trace him to the Black family and Grimmauld Place through the Department of Regulationand Control of Magical Creatures. "I- maybe," Harry said. "Why?"

Remus glanced at the door and lowered his voice. "Because, before we stage any sort of escape, I'd like to be certain he's where he should be."

"He will be. He is," Harry said firmly. "And did you say escape?"

Remus smiled half-heartedly. "It won't be easy to get you home," he said in a whisper, glancing at the door again. "You're being watched like a Snitch as it is and the second we leave here, the Trace will reactivate."

"You mean it's off?"

"Places where a lot of magic is used - here, Hogwarts, Gringotts, the Ministry, Diagon Alley - tend to confuse the Trace. There are wards that do the same thing." Harry nodded, thinking of Grimmauld. "The streets of muggle London, however..."

"Right," Harry said. "If we left from here, though, would we be able to get away without the Trace?"

"As long as any magic you used was performed inside this building, yes." Remus made a face. "But the warding-"

Harry smiled. "I think I know a way home," he said.

"Oh?"

"I'd need a wand," Harry added.

Remus lifted an eyebrow. "To do what?"

"I can't tell you," Harry said. "Not yet, at least."

"Usually those words ended with me in detention," Remus muttered, shaking his head. "The number of times James said them...So you think you can get out?"

"If I have a wand."

Remus exhaled noisily. "If I gave you mine..." he said, pulling a slender beech wand from his shabby robes. "How would you get it back to me?"

"Er... well..." Harry thought about that and had to admit he had no idea.

Remus shook his head suddenly. "That isn't going to work."

"I didn't suggest anything!"

"It wouldn't matter anyway. I can't give you my wand because the Aurors-" Remus jerked his head at the door. "-check everyone's wands on the way in and out. They'd know about it as soon as I tried to leave and I'd be dragged off to Azkaban, even if you somehow got free."

"Let's not do that, then," Harry said, quickly. "Not unless you've got a spare that you can hide..."

"No," Remus said a little apologetically.

They sat in silence and then Harry said, "Maybe... maybe you could go get my wand."

"You have- Of course you do. Sirius never has cared much for tradition. You want me to get your wand?"

"Well, _I_ can't exactly fetch it, can I?" Harry asked with a grimace.

"No," Remus said wryly. "I suppose not... Where is it?"

"Er..." Where would Kreacher have put it after he took it from Harry? "I'm not completely sure."

"Helpful."

"It was confiscated," Harry said defensively.

"By Sirius?"

"No. By- by our housekeeper."

"I always did say Sirius needed taking care of, but a housekeeper..." He chuckled once and then his expression turned remarkably serious. "Would I be right in assuming, then, that if your housekeeper took your wand, then it's somewhere in your house?"

"Probably, yeah," Harry said, wincing.

"Ah."

That, Harry thought, summarised the situation quite nicely.

* * *

Sirius' eyes flicked open and he became uncomfortably aware that he was not in his own bed, or in any of the beds in his house. _His_ bed didn't have flowery pillows or embroidered sheets. _His_ room didn't have cream and pink wallpaper. His room did, however, have moving photographs. _So this is a magical home, at least._ He reached for his wand but it wasn't in his pocket. _Damn._

He examined the photograph on the bedside table. It showed a boy - he looked about ten - and a woman - who Sirius guessed was his mother. Both had the same dark hair and eyes and the same cheeky smile. _I know that smile_, Sirius realised, but he couldn't think how.

He climbed out of bed and stumbled over to the door, his muscles seizing painfully. He was out of breath by the time he got there and sank to his knees. The lethargy was like being in Azkaban again, and he hated it. He felt weak and he felt tired and this was after copious amounts of chocolate, hot chocolate and seven years of practice against Dementors. He supposed there was a reason they'd outlawed the use of Dementor's Draught, and why, when it had been used, prisoners had only been given a tiny mouthful.

He called Voldemort every rude name he could think of and then pushed himself to his feet, using the doorknob for support. The moment his hand touched the knob, a high, ringing noise started.

He heard quick, quiet footsteps and then a woman's voice said, "Get away from the door." Sirius forced his legs to obey and backed off a few steps. "Not far enough," she snapped. "Go and sit on the bed."

Sirius did what he was told, but it was a struggle. He heard a muttered spell and then the door clicked and swung open. A tall woman - she was only a few inches shorter than he was - stepped into the room. She had the same dark hair and eyes as the pair in the photograph. She resembled the woman from the photograph - she was, perhaps, prettier and her face was thinner - but she certainly wasn't smiling. Sirius eyed her wand, which was trained directly on his chest. Her hand didn't shake, even slightly. In her other hand, was Harry's rucksack.

"Hello," he said - though it came out as more of a croak - and fixed a weak smile on his face, though he looked and felt like a mess; his robes were torn and rumpled, his hair was matted and he stank of salt and Inferi. He was also exceptionally thirsty.

"I think this is yours," she said, tossing the rucksack at him. It was damp, inside and out and the chocolate was waterlogged but he shoved a row into his mouth anyway. It was salty.

"Fanks," he said, stuffing another chunk in. She didn't seem to know what to make of him. "Your nephew?" he asked, nodding at the photograph.

"No," she said stiffly.

Sirius tried again. "Nice... nice house you've got here." She gave him a flat look. Sirius winced as something inside him twinged. "Do...do you... kidnap people often?"

"You're one to talk." Sirius frowned. _Does that mean she knows who I am...?_ he wondered. _It must, and that's why she's so wary. _The woman came a few more steps into the room. _Or not so wary._ She pushed her fringe out of her face and folded her arms, waiting for him to say something. "Where's Harry?" she asked finally.

"Safe," Sirius said hoarsely. _Or at least I hope so._

Her brown eyes narrowed and slid over his bruised arm, the cut on his cheek, his general state of disarray and came to rest on his neck, which he knew was bruised from being strangled. "

I know better than to trust your definition of safe," she said coolly.

"Clearly you know me so well," Sirius said, attempting to sound sarcastic but it came out sounding rather pathetic.

"Better than most," she said, her eyes narrowing again.

"Who... who are you?"

"You don't recognise me?" she asked, actually smiling now, but it was bitter. "Sirius, I'm wounded." _So she wasn't bluffing_, Sirius thought grimly, squinting at her. She did seem vaguely familiar, but then, so had her house when he Apparated into it... he didn't even know how long ago that had been.

"You wouldn't happen to have... water... a glass of water, would you?" he asked hopefully. Her eyes narrowed again but she waved her wand and conjured a glass. She filled it and passed it to him. Sirius practically inhaled it and looked up, eyes begging for more. She paused and then waved her wand again. He went through another five glasses before he was remotely sated and set it down on the bedside table. "I'm afraid... I've still got... absolutely no idea... who you are."

She shifted, looking a little smug and a little hurt. As she did, Sirius got a whiff of her. Her scent, too, was vaguely familiar, and he was more inclined to trust that than his eyes. He sniffed again, trying to be casual about it. His eyes widened.

"Mar_...Marlene?!_" Her eyes narrowed again and Sirius knew he was right. Then his mouth fell open. "_FUCK!" _His throat protested, but he was dead, so it didn't matter. He flopped back down onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. "I never got out, did I?"

"Excuse me?"

"I'm...I'm dead, aren't I?" She stared at him. _Oh, Harry, I hope you didn't see it. I hope you're safe. Godric damn it! I promised everything would be all right! _"Aren't I!"

"No," she said slowly.

"Go get... James... James. And Lily," Sirius told her. "Oh, and Reg."

"Reg?"

"Regulus. Brother... My brother," Sirius said impatiently. Comprehension dawned on her face for a moment, and then it was replaced by confusion as he kept rambling. "No one else. Lily, James and Reg. Wait... I'll... I'll do it." He pulled his mirror out of his pocket with trembling fingers and said, "James Potter." James' smiling face appeared and Marlene started. "Hey, I... er... I'm at Marl-" Sirius said, choking up a little; it was partially emotion and partially tiredness. James just smiled.

"Sirius!" Marlene snarled. "You're not dead," she said, sounding as if she wished otherwise.

James still didn't seem able to talk to him, so he supposed it was possible. Sirius put his mirror down on the bedspread and turned to look at her.

"Then why are you... here?"

"Because I live here, you git," she said, annoyed.

"But you died."

"Almost," she whispered, then her voice hardened. "If you hadn't been so busy running around after Voldemort perhaps you'd know that."

"So you're alive?" She rolled her eyes. "And I'm alive?"

"You were half dead when you showed up in my hallway," she said curtly. Sirius stuffed his mirror back into his pocket. "I sort of hoped you'd die on the first night but you didn't."

"First-?"

"You've slept like the dead for three days but I assure you, you're very much alive." She fixed him with a speculative look. "For now."

Sirius didn't doubt that she was capable of killing him. "But Malfoy..." he said. "I was there, one of the first ones at your house. It was ruined." He'd never quite recovered from that day in August.

She gave him a bitter smile. "Malfoy was there," she agreed. "He decided to gloat for a bit, as he always does and he- I..." She drew herself upright. "I was being tortured." Without thinking, Sirius reached for her but she flinched and retreated back toward the door. "I lost my short term memory. I thought I was still at Hogwarts... in my sixth year, I think.

"I recall telling Malfoy I'd tell McGonagall and see to it that he got a detention. Then his house elf showed up and started prattling on about his son. He turned around to tell the thing to go away and I grabbed my wand, threw myself out of the window and Disapparated."

"Muggles found me near my parents' old house and took me to a muggle hospital, but muggle medicine was useless in letting me get my memory back. I probably blew the Statute of Secrecy about forty times, calling everyone muggles, saying I'd miss Quidditch, asking for my wand - they confiscated it when I arrived."

"There was a television in my room, though, and when Lily and James were killed I saw it on the muggle news - not properly of course, but I filled in the blanks - and I snapped out of it. I started to remember little things, but I knew I still needed help so I stole my wand back and took myself to St Mungo's."

"Dumbledore was notified and came to fill me in on what had happened in the months I'd been in muggle hospital. I found out you were a traitor-" She spat the word. "-that you'd killed Peter and that Harry'd been sent to live with Lily's awful sister. Remus came to visit me... he was distraught, not that you'd care..."

She sighed. "I was getting better. I was remembering things and I was going to help, going to testify against Death Eaters in all the trials and then- and then... I- Alice and Frank showed up in my ward. I couldn't handle it. I checked out as soon as the Healers proclaimed me healthy and I moved in here."

"And you've been alone, all this time?" Sirius asked quietly. That wasn't the Marlene he knew at all; she'd always loved to be around people.

"I had a cat but it died last year," she said shortly. Her face hadn't changed the entire time; her jaw had been set, her eyes not-quite-there. It was a look Sirius was very familiar with, after having spent years in Azkaban.

"What... what did the world do to you, Marly?" he asked hoarsely.

Her blank expression twisted into an angry one at the old nickname and her wand spat out a stream of pink and gold magic. "The world?" she asked, coldly furious. "The world did nothing to me, Sirius, it was you and your Death Eater pals." Sirius wasn't sure what to say to that. He wasn't a Death Eater, but knowing Marlene, he'd be Stunned or Silenced before he could even get the words out. Instead, he just waited. This seemed to annoy her. "Are you just going to sit there?" she asked.

"What else should I... be doing?" Sirius asked, rubbing absently at a particularly painful bruise at his throat. "I'll talk... if you want me to-"

"I don't want you to talk to me."

"Liar," was all he managed to say as his head throbbed painfully.

"Excuse me?"

"You're... excused, but you're still lying. If you didn't want to... talk, you'd have handed me straight to... them... the Dementors, or killed me yourself."

"Are you complaining?" she asked.

"Not at all... Just wondering... Am I allowed to talk to you or not?" Talking was the last thing he felt like doing but if she was willing to listen, he didn't see that he had much choice.

A wary expression crossed her face. "You have two minutes."


	17. Moony And Padfoot

Remus was very, very still. "You would trust me?" he asked, finally. He looked like he might cry.

Harry nodded, praying he wouldn't regret this, praying Remus honestly believed him, instead of just saying he did. Remus wouldn't be able to tell anyone where Sirius was because of the Fidelius Charm, but he could still overwhelm Padfoot and drag him out.

Harry gestured for Remus to come closer - there was no way he would risk this being overheard - and breathed, "We've been living at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place."

Remus' eyes widened. "You're joking!" Harry shook his head. "And no one's thought to look there since before you were taken because we all know how much he hated it..." Remus shook his head again. "I did consider- have you- your neighbour?"

"Our neighbours?" Harry asked puzzled. _I'm pretty sure Snape said something about that when he visited._

"You don't know?" Remus asked.

"Know what?" Harry asked.

"About Marlene."

"She's dead," Harry said. "She died in the war."

Remus shook his head, smiling but said no more on the topic. "Number Twelve," he continued thoughtfully. "That explains the Trace too... the Ministry wouldn't detect as much as a sneeze because that old place is so heavily warded."

"You've got no idea," Harry muttered.

"Unbelievable," Remus said. "I'd been wondering how Sirius was getting by without magic. Turns out he hasn't been at all." He smiled. "Thank you, Harry, for telling me."

"You won't say anything, will you?" Harry asked, nervous. He thought he trusted Remus, but it was still better that he didn't know about the Fidelius Charm; Remus likely believed Harry had lied to Fudge when he mentioned it now that he knew Harry hadn't taken the Veritaserum.

"No," Remus assured him.

"Thanks."

Remus stood. "I'll go now. You might be home by tonight."

Harry couldn't stop the hopeful smile that plastered itself onto his face.

* * *

Remus slipped his robes off and stuffed them into his pocket before he left the reception area so that when he left the hospital, he was wearing a faded pair of jeans - he really did need new ones - and a worn shirt. No one gave him a second glance as he walked - seemingly out of thin air - to join the sea of muggles.

He ducked down a side alley beside a bookshop and, upon checking for any muggles, pulled his wand out and spun on the spot, focusing on the small park opposite Number Twelve where he, James and Peter had often met with Sirius during the holidays, and later, where they'd come so Sirius could meet with Regulus.

It looked just as he remembered it; a square of sparse grass surrounded by hedges and a rusty iron fence. He stepped out of a cluster of bushes, smoothed his robes and strode out and across the street.

He could see Number Twelve but he had to fight to keep it in his sight; his eyes tried to wander to the houses either side. That wasn't a new security measure – Orion Black had put that up, along with several others in the summer after third year to try to stop James, Remus and Peter from visiting.

Remus headed up the worn stone steps. The door was black with a snake knocker, but neither looked as grimy as the rest of the house; he thought the door had been repainted, and the knocker polished.

Remus reached for the doorbell and thought better of it. He gave the door a push but it didn't budge. He tapped it once with his wand, muttering, "_Alohomora_." It swung open and Remus stepped into the black hallway. The door clicked shut behind him, making him jump. He summoned his Gryffindor courage and took a step forward. The floor creaked loudly.

The entire hallway lit up. Remus jumped and looked around for Sirius, or perhaps the housekeeper Harry had mentioned, but neither were there. _It must be charmed_, he thought, glancing at the walls. The house didn't look quite as sinister in the warm orange light; the walls were green, not black, and the floor was no longer a bottomless pit, but dark floorboards. Remus took another tentative step forward.

When nothing happened, he took another and tried to remember the layout. He still had no idea where he was going by the time he reached the bottom of a staircase. There was another staircase off to his left but that was heading down. Remus frowned.

"Up we go, then," he muttered. The stairs didn't creak as he'd half expected them to and it occurred to him that Sirius - and possibly Harry - had done quite a bit of work to make the house liveable.

The first floor was quiet, as was the second and the third. Remus was beginning to wonder whether he should have checked downstairs first when he reached the fourth floor and heard voices coming out of a slightly ajar door.

He knocked quietly and pushed the door open. "Harry?" he heard someone say hoarsely. Sirius was struggling to get out of his bed, while an elderly house elf tried to push him back down. His hopeful, almost desperate expression faded when he saw Remus. The elf made a startled noise and stopped fighting Sirius; instead, its bloodshot eyes narrowed and it took a step toward Remus, hands raised menacingly.

Remus quickly threw his wand down and held his hands up so that Sirius could see they were empty; if Harry was wrong, and Sirius actually _was _a murderer, then this was the stupidest thing he'd ever done.

"Kreacher," Sirius said, picking up his own wand. He trained it on Remus.

"I'm a little disappointed, Sirius," Remus said, trying to hide how nervous he was. "No hug. Not even a handshake to greet your old friend." Sirius' wand lowered a little, but not much.

"Old friend?" he asked weakly, managing to stand this time, though he held the bedpost for support. "Last time we saw each other, you didn't want to be friends." Remus frowned. "And, if memory serves, you greeted me in much the same way; with a wand."

"Hypocrisy has always been something of a problem of mine," Remus admitted. Sirius smiled faintly and lowered his wand; his arm was shaking and he could hardly hold it still. "You look awful." And he did. The Sirius he'd seen in London a few months back hadn't looked like he'd spent seven years of his life in Azkaban.

This one did; he was wearing rumpled, bloodstained, singed robes, he had a week's worth of beard and his hair was matted. He was also pale, sweaty and his eyes were feverish. Remus also spotted bruises on his neck, like the ones Harry had had.

"What happened to you?"

"Nothing. I'm fine."

"Delusional," the elf croaked.

Sirius shot it a look. "Where's Harry? Is he all right?" Sirius tried to look around Remus and swayed on his feet. He had to sit down on the bed. Remus tried to take a step toward him, concerned, but the elf made an angry noise and wouldn't let him get any closer.

"Harry's in St Mungo's," Remus said, backing away. Sirius lost what little colour he had. "He's perfectly fine, though he wasn't when he arrived at my cottage."

Sirius' pinched expression eased somewhat. "Why did he send you?"

"Who says he did?"

"You'd never have found me if he hadn't," Sirius said, with certainty. Remus wondered at that, but all curiosity on the matter left his mind when Sirius picked up his own wand again. Remus glanced at his own discarded wand. He had no intention of using it, but he felt bare without it. "Why are you here? Have you come to arrest me?"

"Put that down," Remus said, nodding to Sirius' shaking hand. Sirius frowned at him and tried to steady his hand. "No, I haven't."

"What?" Sirius said, lowering his wand again.

"I think Harry would be rather put out with me if I did."

A ghost of a smile flitted across Sirius' tired face. "He's a good kid."

"I know."

Sirius gave him a curious look and then shook his head. "I know you didn't want to hear it that day in London, but if you're willing to listen I'll tell you about-"

"Peter?" Remus asked.

Sirius' mouth fell open. "You _know?!_" That seemed to be too much for Sirius' already weak voice; he made a choking sound and cleared his throat several times. Finally, he looked back up at Remus, still seeming stunned.

"Close your mouth, Sirius, you look like a Dementor."

Sirius' mouth snapped shut. "Harry," he said after a moment.

"Harry," Remus agreed.

"I can't believe you sat still long enough for him to explain," Sirius said, chuckling.

His laughs turned into coughs and he had to sit down again. Remus watched him, concerned, and this time the elf was so busy forcing a hot mug into Sirius' hands that Remus was able to approach the bed.

When Sirius had finished whatever was in the cup and stopped coughing, Remus said, "Of course I listened. You didn't see his face; do you remember that look James used to get-"

"I remember every look James used to get," Sirius said softly.

Remus smiled slightly. "The one where he had something important to say-"

"-where his jaw set and he wasn't actually frowning but you just knew he felt like it?"

"The very same," Remus said.

"When Harry does it, his eyes flash like Lily's used to," Sirius said

"I know," Remus said.

"So you believe us- me?"

"Enough to come here and throw my wand away." Remus said.

Sirius gave him a shrewd look. "Do you actually believe me, or are you just hoping?"

"I'm not used to anyone reading me so easily anymore," Remus said, sitting down on the edge of Sirius' bed. "And a bit of both, I think. It certainly makes sense; Peter was always busy, or away - he never got hurt on missions... When do you think he turned?"

"A year before? Maybe he never turned, and was always like that. I don't know. Does it matter?"

"Not really," Remus admitted. "I was just wondering."

"I hate him," Sirius whispered. Any doubts Remus still had about whether Sirius' story was true or not evaporated with those three words, because in them was loathing, betrayal and buried much, much deeper, pain. Emotion that deep couldn't be faked. "And I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For thinking you were the spy. For ever believing that you would do less for them than I would. For not telling you as soon as we made the swap."

Remus inclined his head. "I'm sorry too, for thinking so poorly of you. And I'm sorry I never visited you, or wrote." He swallowed. "Even if you were guilty, I owed you that much."

"It's all right," Sirius said. "Oh, just so you know..." He pulled back both of his sleeves and though his forearms were bruised, he very obviously had not been Marked. Remus pulled back his own sleeves to show his scarred arms. Sirius nodded and then winced. For a moment, Remus thought we was about to be sick but he took a deep breath and accepted another drink from the elf. "I'm going to hate hot chocolate by the end of this," Sirius muttered, staring at his cup with a wrinkled nose.

Remus opened his mouth to ask what had happened to him again - it didn't look like any normal sickness - but he knew Sirius would just ignore the question.

"Friends?" he asked instead, holding out his hand.

"Brothers," Sirius said, shaking Remus' hand. Suddenly, he looked uncertain. "If-if you still-"

"Of course, Padfoot," Remus said, rolling his eyes. He hugged Sirius - gently because of how frail he looked - and then pulled back. "You're not contagious, are you?"

"Nah," Sirius said. "It's just food poisoning." He glanced at the elf. "I don't know how you did it."

"Kreacher is spending months recovering, though Kreacher is not experienced like Master Sirius, and Kreacher is not knowing to have chocolate."

"Months?" Sirius groaned. "I can't spend months in bed!"

"You spent years in Azkaban," Remus pointed out.

"I paced," Sirius sighed. "Drove everyone mad - er, madder."

"Still can't go without your daily walk?"

Sirius shook his head. "I end up chewing the furniture."

It would take time, Remus knew, until things went back to the way they'd been, but the ease with which they fell back into old patterns reassured him that the lack of James and Peter, and the seven - almost eight - years without contact had not ruined their friendship. The foundations were still there - corroded in places - but there. They could fix it.

Sirius pulled a box of Chocolate Frogs off of his bedside table, unwrapped one and stuffed it in his mouth. "Chocolate's bad for dogs," Remus said quietly.

Sirius grinned. "I'm already sick." He tossed a sweet at Remus, who caught it reflexively.

"That and you have insides more stable than a cast iron cauldron," he muttered, unwrapping the Frog.

"There is that," Sirius agreed. He was quiet and then said, "So Harry's in St Mungo's?"

"Yes." Remus glanced at his watch and swore. "He's probably wondering where I am."

"What ward in St Mungo's?" Sirius asked casually.

"Queen Mauve's Paediatric Ward on the fourth- I know that look," Remus said warningly. "Sirius-"

Sirius quickly assumed an innocent expression that would probably have fooled anyone else. "What?"

"You can hardly stand," Remus said.

Sirius frowned. "I'll manage."

"Don't be thick," Remus said bluntly.

"I can't leave him there, Moony," Sirius whispered.

"I'm not asking you to. I can have him home tonight if you'll give me his wand."

"You'd... you'd help?" Sirius asked.

"That's why I'm here."

"But the Ministry-"

"I don't give a damn what the Ministry thinks."

"Dumbledore, though? Surely he's-"

"Dumbledore wants what's best for Harry and that's to have him happy and safe. The Ministry's had little luck finding him here, so Voldemort certainly won't be able to - if or when he returns - and from the way Harry's been snapping at anyone who insults you, I'd say he rather enjoys your company, so that covers the happy part. Now... his wand?"

Before Sirius could say anything, the elf vanished. He reappeared only a second later - making Sirius wince again - cradling Harry's wand to his chest.

"I'll look after it," Remus promised. Kreacher passed it over and bowed slightly before retreating back behind Sirius. Remus tucked it into his pocket and retrieved his own from the floor. "I should go."

Sirius nodded. "Do you want me to see you out?"

Remus rolled his eyes. "Stay in bed, Sirius. I'll be back in a while."

Remus left the room as Kreacher forced another mug of hot chocolate into Sirius' hands. _I will get him to tell me what he and Harry were doing_, he told himself. _And then I'll see if I can do something for those bruises._Remus let himself out of the house and shut the door with a wave of his wand. He had a definite spring in his step as he set off to the right, past Number Eleven, and realised he hadn't felt this cheerful in years.

He Disapparated at the end of the street and found himself in the same alley - by the bookstore - that he'd left from. Remus patted his pockets to check he still had both wands and then he approached the ugly dummy in the window of Purge and Dowse Ltd. "I'm here to visit Harry Potter."

The dummy nodded slightly and Remus strode through the glass into the St Mungo's reception area, where he was immediately intercepted by Mad-Eye Moody. "Lupin," the grizzled Auror said.

"Mad-Eye," Remus said, smiling as he passed over his wand.

The Auror's scarred mouth twitched. "Here to see the boy?"

"Yes, why?"

"Some Ministry witch was talking to him earlier," Mad-Eye said, passing the wand back. "Sounds like they're moving him in the morning."

_Not if I have anything to do with it. _Remus' eyebrows climbed. "Where?"

"Back to the muggles," Mad-Eye said. "Apparently the kid wasn't too happy. The Healers called Dumbledore in. He's with him now, asked me to send you up."

Remus said a quick goodbye and headed to the nearest lift. As he waited for it, he thought it probably would have been quicker to take the stairs. He turned away just as the doors opened. Rolling his eyes, he stepped inside and jabbed the button for the fourth floor.

It stopped twice - once on the first floor and once on the third to admit a Healer in lime green robes and a witch in black - Remus nodded a hello to Mary MacDonald and her sister Susan who usually treated him if he had a bad full moon - and then stepped out into the fourth floor corridor and took the first set of double doors on the left into another corridor, labelled _Queen Mauve's Paediatric Ward_.

The walls were covered with unicorns and dragons, and painted pixies followed his progress down the hall, pulling funny faces. Remus knew it reasonably well; his mother had been a Healer - she'd quit after he was bitten - and was able to fix him from home most times, but occasionally she'd brought him here.

His room had been down the right side hall which a sign proclaimed was for _Creature Induced Injuries_, while Harry was being kept in a room at the end of the _General Admissions_ corridor_. _After the Aurors had checked his wand, Remus stepped into the room and was met by a rather bizarre sight; the contents of Harry's dinner tray had been ignored and placed on his bedside table while the tray itself rested on Harry's knees, between him and Dumbledore, and had a rather complex looking card tower on it.

The ends of Dumbledore's beard were blackened and Harry's nose was covered in soot.

As Remus shut the door, the tower exploded and Harry burst out laughing. "Was that you or me?" Dumbledore asked.

"I... er... I'm not sure," Harry said.

"Both take a bean then," Dumbledore said brightly.

There was a rustle and then Harry put something in his mouth and made a face. "Dirt," he said.

Dumbledore was slower about choosing his. "I do hope this is strawberry," he said. "I myself happened across a vomit flavoured one in my youth and lost my liking for them." There was a pause and then Dumbledore reached for a tissue and spat something into it. "Now I remember why; raw meat."

"Urgh."

"My sentiments exactly, dear boy. You may start the next one." Remus cleared his throat as Harry picked up a card. Both looked up rather guiltily, apparently noticing Remus for the first time. "Ah, Remus!" Dumbledore exclaimed. "Bertie Botts Every Flavour Bean?"

"No, thank you," Remus said with a smile. "I had an unfortunate experience with an earthworm flavoured one a few years back..."

"Dudley made me eat a worm once," Harry said, pulling a face. Dumbledore watched him with interest, eyes twinkling. He shrugged. "It wasn't as bad as you'd think."

"Sirius could always eat anything too," Remus said, remembering to swap his smile for a grimace at the last moment.

Something in Harry's eyes dimmed and for a moment his mind was obviously not in his little hospital room. Dumbledore glanced at Remus, worried, and Remus shrugged back.

"Yeah," Harry said with a fake laugh. He hastily placed a card down and said, "Your turn, Professor."

Dumbledore added another card. "This will have to be my last game, dear boy. Minerva was unhappy that I left at all."

"Sorry," Harry said.

"I don't mind in the least," Dumbledore assured him.

"Thank you, sir."

Dumbledore smiled to acknowledge the gratitude and then waved a hand at the foundations of their card-tower. "I believe it's your turn, Harry." Harry nodded, his face scrunched up with concentration as he set a card atop Dumbledore's and waited for a few moments. They continued exchanging cards and the tower took shape again.

Remus was struck by nostalgia, and remembered James and Sirius having regular games of Exploding Snap, or using the cards to build towers, and as they grew, models of the Shrieking Shack or Gringotts Bank. Somewhere at home he had a photograph of the small scale Hogwarts they'd built early in seventh year.

Harry was the one who caused it to explode this time as he tried to balance a card atop another one. He let out a yelp as it combusted beneath his fingers and then picked a bean from the box Dumbledore offered. Harry surveyed the little green bean, and looking slightly more apprehensive than he had the time before, put it in his mouth. He relaxed a moment later and said, "Mint."

Dumbledore smiled and swept the cards into a pile with a wave of his hand. He set the box of beans on top. "You may keep these," he said kindly, passing them to Harry.

"Like- like a present?" Harry asked, staring at him, stunned.

"Are you not accustomed to presents?" Dumbledore asked, frowning.

"Padfoot's the only one who's ever-" he cut off, flushing. Remus curled his hands into fists and then shoved them in his pockets.

Dumbledore's frown deepened. "I see. Perhaps I'll have a word with Petunia about that when we drop you home in the morning."

"No, please don't. Sir. They-" Harry seemed to think better of what he was about to say and closed his mouth.

"We'll speak more in the morning," Dumbledore said after a moment. He shook Harry's hand and said, "Remus, a quick word?" Remus followed the Headmaster out of the hospital room, feeling as if he was fifteen again and in trouble. _Surely he doesn't know what I'm planning... _"I trust Alastor found you?"

"Yes, sir," Remus said carefully. "He said Harry didn't take the news of moving terribly well."

"It is often hard to take news well when you're being shouted at," Dumbledore sighed, "although that news would have been hard to hear regardless of who it came from."

"He's all right about it now?"

"Perhaps not, but he's accepted it." Remus didn't say anything. "I had hoped you might accompany us in the morning," Dumbledore continued.

"Me?"

"Harry has come to trust you. He will be far more willing to participate if you are there."

"So you're using me to make him go along with it?" Remus asked.

"I'd merely hoped you'd make what will be a difficult situation easier by providing a modicum of familiarity," Dumbledore said gently.

That made Remus feel a little better. "Difficult situation?"

"Harry is fond of his godfather," Dumbledore said, frowning slightly, "and not, if I am correct, of his Aunt, Uncle and cousin."

"I got that impression too," Remus said.

"I also believe that the feeling is mutual and as such, I have not informed Petunia."

"You're just going to show up?"

"I feel that might be best," Dumbledore said unhappily. "I do not wish to believe the worst, but were I to give them warning, they may make excuses or simply not be home when we drop by. We cannot afford to take that chance because it may give Sirius an opportunity to take Harry back." Privately, Remus didn't think Sirius was in any state to take anyone back, but he didn't say so. "I also intend to speak to Petunia about the possibility of you having Harry for weekends. That will be easier if you are present, I believe."

"Why now?" Remus asked and he didn't have to fake his slightly bitter tone.

"Because he has been exposed to our world," Dumbledore said with a quiet sigh. "Admittedly rather sooner and rather more abruptly than I had hoped but that cannot be changed. I do not think he would take it well if we were to tear all of that away in the space of a few hours."

"Probably not."

"Are you willing to take on the responsibility?"

"Yes, sir," Remus said.

"Splendid," Dumbledore said, beaming. "I'll see you tomorrow morning."

"What time?"

"Nine will do," Dumbledore told him. He set off down the corridor, his bright orange hat almost brushing the ceiling.

Remus swallowed, feeling a little guilty for what he was about to do and then pushed that down. _If Dumbledore knew the truth, he wouldn't mind_. _Merlin, he'd probably help me!_ Remus laughed quietly - the Aurors on guard gave him odd looks - and stepped back into Harry's room, closing the door behind him.

"Did you get it?" Harry asked excitedly. Remus pulled out the wand and passed it over. "Thanks." Harry tucked it out of sight, under his pillow and then glanced up at Remus apprehensively. "Did you... was Padfoot home?"

"He was." Harry's face lit up with relief. Then he frowned slightly. "I was perfectly civil, Harry," Remus added.

Harry's expression cleared. "He's still at home, then?"

"He's not really in any condition to be moving," Remus said.

"What's wrong with him?" Harry demanded, looking more like James in that moment than Remus had ever seen.

"Shh," Remus said, glancing at the door.

Harry looked mortified by his mistake. "Sorry! Is he hurt?"

"A few cuts and bruises," Remus said. Harry's expression flickered. "He claims to have food poisoning as well, but that's probably from all the chocolate he seems to have been eatin- Harry?" Harry had gone very pale and worry was wafting off him in waves.

Harry glanced at Remus. "You can smell it, can't you?"

"How-"

"You sniff," Harry said. "I don't think you realise you do it, but you do."

"Most people don't notice."

"Most people don't live with dog-men."

Remus smiled and, with the ease of experience, twisted the topic. "True... Speaking of dog-men, yours is eager to see you." Harry's face brightened again and the last of Remus' guilt for plotting to break him out faded; anything that made a nine-year old look that happy - and didn't involve explosives - couldn't be a bad thing.

"You should go, then," Harry said after a moment.

"Oh?" Remus asked.

"So they don't suspect you." Remus smiled slightly. "I mean, if you leave and five minutes later I'm not here, it'll be pretty obvious what happened. If you go now, though, you can go home and be there when they start asking questions."

"And what do you suggest I answer with?"

"You're the Marauder," Harry said, shrugging. "Padfoot says you can talk your way out of anything."

"Almost anything," Remus said. Harry lifted an eyebrow. "James and Sirius were always been good at seeing through me." _Or smelling, more like, but I could usually do the same... _Smelling lies generally required a conscious effort though, unless the person was a bad liar. The better they were, the harder it was to pick up on, which made it easy to miss what was actually being said. There was no point knowing someone was lying if one didn't know what they were lying about. As a result, Remus relied on his ears and eyes if he could.

"I bet they were," Harry said, with a small smile that made Remus wonder what stories Sirius had told him. He didn't ask. "I suppose it's a good thing it's not either of them you've got to convince."

"A very good thing," Remus agreed, smiling. He shifted in his chair. "Where will I meet you, then?"

"Meet me?"

"I told your godfather I'd bring you home," Remus said, raising an eyebrow. "You don't expect me to leave you wandering around London on your own, do you?"

"Hopefully I won't need to wander at all," Harry said, rather ambiguously. "But all right..."

* * *

"You're late," Harry said, startling Remus; Remus, as planned, had gone home and stayed there for several hours after arranging to meet Harry at nine. It was probably only a few minutes past, but Harry had been dying to get inside and see his godfather. _Remus said he said he had food poisoning... I'll bet my wand he's still sick from that awful potion._ Harry thought, with an anxious glance toward Number Twelve.

"Dumbledore came to my cottage to tell me you'd vanished," Remus said. "No one saw or heard anything, apparently," he added, looking a little impressed. "The hospital masked the Trace and the wards erased the magic you left there; it's bad for the patients, apparently. Fudge was furious. And, all they found was a tea-stained sheet under the bed."

"Oh, that," Harry said, shifting under Remus' scrutiny.

"Yes, that. I wondered where you were putting it." Harry quirked his lips but couldn't manage a proper smile now that they were so close to home and he didn't know what to expect of Padfoot. Remus had mentioned he was sick, but how badly? "Dumbledore found it funny, I think."

Guilt squirmed in his stomach. "He was at St Mungo's again?"

"Yes," Remus said, making a face. "He doesn't seem able to stay at Hogwarts today; he's at the Ministry now, I think."

"Does he think you're at home?"

Remus shook his head. "I told him I'd be patrolling London tonight." He shook his head again and muttered, "I still can't believe I lied to him."

"Sorry," Harry said. "It's my faul-"

"I chose this willingly," Remus said gently. "It's more that I can't believe he believed me; the only secret I've ever been able to keep from him is the Animagus secret and that's not really mine."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked. "You're a wolf, aren't you?"

"Well, yes-"

"And Dumbledore knows," Harry said, frowning, "so that doesn't make any sense-"

Remus' expression closed over completely. "Sirius is probably worried sick," he said, glancing at his watch. All thoughts of wolves and Dumbledore fled. "Ready?" Remus asked, noticing Harry's hopeful face. Harry walked beside Remus, hoping no one was looking, or - if they were - that they didn't notice he was wearing his hospital pyjamas.

He was just about to burst with- not excitement, he didn't think, but _something_; it seemed to take them forever to cross the road and walk up Grimmauld's front steps, but he didn't dare run in case anyone was watching.

Remus reached into his pocket for his wand so that he could open the front door but he was too slow and Harry's wand was already in his hand. He rapped it on the door like he'd seen Padfoot do, feeling safe to use magic now that he was inside the Fidelius Charm and protected by the house's wards. Nothing happened. Irritated he tapped it again and whether he'd done it right that time or it was his desperation responding, the door swung open slowly.

Harry gave it an impatient push and burst into the hallway so quickly the floorboard didn't have time to make its usual loud creak and merely chirped, though it went off again for Remus who followed him in at a much more sedate pace. The lamps flared to life.

"... can walk. I'm not crippled-" he heard Padfoot saying impatiently from somewhere down the hall. There was a pause and then, "Harry?"

"Padfoot!" Harry shouted, running forward. There was a loud crash from down in the kitchen and loud footsteps and then Harry collided with his godfather midway down the kitchen stairs.

"Thank Merlin," Padfoot said hoarsely, hugging him. He pulled back, looking Harry over for injuries and seemed happy enough. Harry was doing the same and was not at all pleased with what he saw - or felt for that matter; Padfoot was much thinner than he'd been a week ago.

"What happened to you?" Harry asked, staring at his Godfather's hollow cheeks, faded bruises and straggly beard.

Padfoot's laughed half-heartedly. "The undead. Except for this one," he added, pointing to his cheek. "This one's from Marlene."

"I thought you said you didn't know the neighbours," Remus said to Harry, approaching a little hesitantly.

"She lives next door?" Harry asked. Padfoot grinned.

"Is she in on this-" Remus gestured around the house, "-too?"

"I told her just about everything except the Animagus secret and where we've been living," Padfoot said ruefully, "so I should think so. Once she cools down, at least. She was... er... unhappy when I left-" He rubbed the bruise without seeming to think about it, "-but she'll be fine in a week or two."

"And what in Godric's name do you mean the undead?!" Remus asked suddenly.

"It was a joke," Padfoot said, not looking at Harry.

Remus pursed his lips. "Sirius Orion-"

"Your middle name's Orion?" Harry asked.

"Yes," Padfoot said in a somewhat amused, somewhat exasperated tone. "And I expect you'll be hearing it a lot now that Moony's around."

"Why? Do you say it often?" Harry asked Remus.

"Only when I'm in trouble," Padfoot muttered and then doubled over coughing.

_So yes_, Harry thought.

"Where's the nearest seat?" Remus asked.

"Dunno. The kitchen, probably," Harry said, nodding down the stairs.

"Come on," Remus said, manoeuvring Harry out of the way so he could help a still-coughing Padfoot. Harry trailed behind, worried.

Kreacher was in the kitchen when they entered, righting a chair that Padfoot had obviously knocked over in his hurry to get to Harry and mopping what appeared to be spilt hot chocolate. The table was still covered in sweets from Padfoot and Harry's visit to Honeydukes just over a week ago.

Kreacher paused when they walked in, taking in Padfoot with an exasperated expression, Remus with a curious one and Harry with a smile. Harry smiled back and almost sat down in the chair next to the one Remus had just forced Padfoot into, but when he spotted the hot chocolate on the stove, headed there instead. He filled a cup and set it down in front of Padfoot who scowled at him but drank.

"Would you like one?" Harry asked Remus.

"Yes, thank you," Remus said. Harry filled two silver teacups and set one down in front of Remus and kept another for himself. Remus made a face at the teacup and made no move to take it. Padfoot chuckled quietly. Remus eyed the sweets on the table. "No wonder you're sick," he said. "There is such a thing as too much sugar." He eyed the cup in Padfoot's thin hands.

"This is my first one since you left this afternoon," Padfoot said, sipping at his drink.

"Oh?" Remus asked, glancing at the sponge in Kreacher's hand.

"I didn't even get a mouthful of that one," Padfoot said. Remus sighed. "What's in your pocket, kiddo?" Harry looked down, remembering for the first time, that his pyjama pocket had the Exploding Snap set and Bertie Botts Beans from Dumbledore. He pulled them out and showed them to Padfoot, cheerfully explaining the rules of the game. Padfoot smiled. "We'll have to play sometime. I used to be quite the cardsman."

"That's not a word," Remus said with a grin.

"Find a better word to describe it, then," Padfoot told him, grinning back.

"Pyrotechnic?" Remus suggested. He reached for the tea cup without seeming to think about it and then pulled back at the last second.

"Git," Padfoot said.

"Mutt."

Padfoot's eyes narrowed. "So we're playing this game, are we?"

Remus grinned. "No, let's not."

"You know I'd win," Padfoot said happily.

"Would not," Remus said, amused.

"He would," Harry said a little apologetically. "He and his mother have had loads of practice since we moved in."

"I thought she was-"

"Dead?" Padfoot said. "Yes, she is, thank Merlin. She's got a portrait though." Padfoot said, glanced at Harry. Padfoot's eyes sometimes seemed a little empty - an after-effect of Azkaban, Harry knew - but they seemed livelier than they had been in a while - despite his sickness - and that happiness looked like it might be there to stay. "A rather unhappy portrait, at the moment."

Harry grinned sheepishly. "Er..." Padfoot watched him expectantly. "After... er... Kreacher and I got back and you weren't with us... I... er... yeah." He glanced at Remus, not sure how much to say in front of him.

"Accidental?" Padfoot asked.

"Dunno," Harry admitted. "It wasn't deliberate, if that's what you mean. She can join Kreacher in his cupboard."

"There was a Permanent Sticking Charm on that."

"Not anymore," Harry said with a shrug.

"Keeping secrets, are we?" Remus asked, amused.

"Maybe. If we're talking about secrets, though, what about you being a wolf?" Harry asked.

Padfoot choked on nothing in particular. Remus glanced over at him and then back to Harry. "What about being a wolf, Harry?" he asked.

"I'm not sure," Harry admitted. "It's just... strange. You changed the subject at St Mungo's and again in the park."

Padfoot laughed into his silver teacup. Remus turned on him, exasperated. "I can't believe you didn't-"

"Yes, but it's not mine to-"

"I know," Remus sighed. "Thank you, I suppose, but now-"

Padfoot scowled. "He won't-"

"He might."

"How would you know?"

"How would you?" Remus countered.

"Because I've been living with him. And neither James or Lily were bothered at all. I mean, if he was _Snivellus'_spawn then maybe, but-"

"I'm going to leave you to talk," Harry decided, knowing when he was needed and when he wasn't.

"Where are you going?" Padfoot asked, surprised.

He was going to try to figure out what they were hiding with this wolf business. "I'm going to... er... clean my room."

He headed for the stairs and made it up about two when Padfoot and Remus both shouted, "NO!" Padfoot's shout, admittedly, was weaker than Remus', but it still startled Harry.

"What?"

Padfoot looked mildly amused. "Whenever James was going to do something incredibly stupid or dangerous - more often than not we were with him," he added, jerking his head at Remus, "he'd tell Charlus and Dorea-"

"Your grandparents, Harry-"

"He knows who his grandparents are, Moony," Padfoot said, rolling his eyes. Harry grinned. "Anyway, cleaning his room was always his excuse."

"Always," Remus added, for effect.

"You mean you don't trust me?" Harry asked, his lips twitching; despite the time apart, Padfoot and Remus seemed to have fallen into the easy camaraderie that that Padfoot had always described with a wistful tone.

"Never trust a Potter who says he's going to clean his room," Padfoot and Remus recited, before Padfoot said, "James was so tidy that he never had to clean anyway and you're so messy that you'd never bother to clean."

"I really am going to clean my room," Harry lied.

Neither seemed to believe him. "If I hear one explosion, or one scream of pain..." Padfoot said warningly.

"Then your duty as godfather will be fulfilled and it'll be the proudest day of your life," Remus told Padfoot, snorting.

Padfoot opened his mouth and closed it again. "Point." He turned back to Harry. "I don't know what you're planning but please try not to make too much mess because I'm in no state to clean." He eyed Kreacher who was rummaging through the cupboards.

"And be careful," Remus added. Padfoot tried to conceal a laugh in a cough. "What?"

Padfoot muttered something that made Remus scowl, but Harry didn't hear what it was. "You've been warned," Padfoot called after Harry, who took the stairs, two at a time, laughing. Harry, now on the ground floor, hung around at the top of the staircase. Listening at doors or the tops of staircases was a rather unfortunate, incurable habit he'd picked up at the Dursleys, but it had certainly come in useful lately.

"Your drink's going to go cold, Moony," Padfoot said.

"Oh, shut up." Remus laughed. "If I didn't know better, I'd say it was a sabotage attempt."

"But you do."

"Yes. Turns out your mother just had poor taste in tea sets."

"My mother had poor taste in everything."

They both chuckled - Padfoot's turned into coughs - and Harry, who had no idea what they were prattling on about, shrugged and continued on his way upstairs.


	18. The Aftermath

She'd known he'd escaped from Azkaban; Mad-Eye and then Dumbledore had both visited in February and told her to keep an eye out in case he tried to visit the house he so despised. Until then, she hadn't known the significance of the house next door and had simply assumed the owners didn't get out much. Sort of like her.

She was still furious about the fact that she'd lived next to his childhood home, and no one had told her, though it explained why Lupin had looked so grim when he dropped by every now and then. She'd kept a vigilant watch on Number Twelve all day Tuesday - the day of the kidnapping, she'd later learned - except for an hour at night, when she'd gone to visit Alice, Frank and Mary, and then kept her vigil all day Wednesday and even into Thursday in case he dropped by.

On Thursday night, Mary had quite calmly passed her the paper, where she read that he had taken Harry and her fragile world had cracked even more, because she knew what that meant. It meant Harry was dead.

And then _he _had told her otherwise.

She'd listened to his story, thrown him his wand and told him to get the hell out of her house if he liked his face the way it was. He'd protested and she'd punched him and he'd got the point and left after that. She'd gone and made herself a strong cup of tea, and managed to convince herself it never happened.

That a half-dead Sirius Black _hadn't_ actually Apparated into her hallway on Sunday night slept for three days and then woken to tell her a crazy story about Peter Pettigrew and the Potters. That had lasted for about a day, a beautiful denial that was shattered when she plucked up the courage to go back to the guest room for the first time since he'd left, and found the bed slept in.

She'd spent three days reassessing her feelings. It wasn't fair, that after eight years of loathing the man - of being convinced she was done with him - that all it had taken was an hour in his company for her to begin to revert to old patterns; being torn between whether to hex him into a thousand pieces, or kiss him. It was for that reason she didn't dare trust a word he'd said.

She was always too forgiving where he was concerned, too soft, too weak to keep her own feelings out of it and make a decision with her head. She'd wanted to believe him so badly that she almost had, until she'd forced herself to reason it though, found proof that his story wasn't possible; Sirus had spoken as if Pettigrew was still alive, something that couldn't be true, because there was no way that a man could have escaped the street without being noticed, and Pettigrew had not been a small man. Nor did he strike her as a traitor – he'd relied on the other Marauders for protection too much to try to live without them.

Sirius though, had always been bold. Bold enough to try to lie to her when he was injured and at her mercy. Bold enough to swap sides, and clever enough that no one suspected him until it was too late. Clever enough to have resisted the Dementors and spent his time in prison plotting to escape and coming up with an almost believable explanation of his own innocence.

Pettigrew's finger was a nice touch; it _was_ something a traitor might do to fool everyone into thinking he was dead, while he went into hiding. But going into hiding wasn't possible because there'd been no way for him to escape and nowhere or way for him to hide, given that his face had been on the front of the paper, along with the Potters' and Sirius' until mid-November.

If Sirius had been able to explain that, she might have believed him. Luckily, he hadn't and she'd seen his story for the lie it was. She thoroughly regretted not killing him when she had had the chance. While he slept, she'd convinced herself she couldn't kill him because she wanted answers. Then he'd woken and it was her answering his questions instead, and she still hadn't killed him.

He'd made her feel so _alive_. Her heart beat, usually a dull, necessary murmur in her chest, had been loud and irregular. Her mind, usually limited to thoughts like when she'd next see Alice, what she should eat for dinner and what room of the house had gone more than a few hours without rigorous cleaning had been tested both by the previously-forgotten spells she'd used, and by Sirius himself, once he was awake. It had been terrifying.

She'd loved every moment.

Her house, the sanctuary she'd sought at the end of the War had slowly, and without her knowing it, become her own personal prison. She'd gone away to hide from the outside world because she couldn't bear to lose anyone else - not that she had many people to lose by that point - yet somehow, she'd still managed; she'd lost herself, and it was after seeing Sirius again that she'd realised.

That, more than anything else, was why she'd let him live. Oh, he'd done awful things and she'd kill him for them later, but he'd given her her life back, so she'd allowed him to keep his for the time being.

In the past, the only people she'd had any real contact with were those associated with Alice and Frank at St Mungo's – Lupin didn't really count because she only saw him once or twice a year - and for the past year, her weekly visits had become monthly ones. The only other time she left the house was to buy food. That, she'd decided, had to change.

On the fourth day after Sirius had left, Marlene had re-subscribed to the _Daily Prophet_ - hers had expired years ago and she hadn't bothered to renew it - so that she could watch for signs of Sirius; she had decided that she would be the one to catch him and then she would take him to Remus Lupin, and then they could kill him together. She'd never been close to Lupin but he had as much of a claim on Sirius' life as she did and while she was no Hufflepuff, it was only fair.

Her first edition of the _Prophet_ in almost four years had been enlightening. Firstly, she'd learned that Harry had been found - around the time that Sirius appeared in her house, which was interesting - that he'd been taken to St Mungo's and that he'd escaped. She'd also learned that there was an official search for Sirius and Harry - two actually, one run by the Ministry and one run by Lucius Malfoy, though both were about to merge into one.

It wasn't even a choice, really, it was something she'd decided the moment she found out Harry _was_ alive - and back in the hands of his traitorous godfather - and simply needed to act on. So, on the sixth day after Sirius had left, Marlene gathered her newly returned Gryffindor courage and Flooed to Hogwarts to speak to the Headmaster. To say he'd been surprised to see her was an understatement; he had looked absolutely floored and then had beamed and told her everything she wanted to know.

She'd left shortly after, with a quick hello to her equally stunned Head of House and a sobbing Hagrid, headed for the house of a man who she'd never, ever thought she'd willingly track down.

"Marlene McKinnon. Your father and I are old acquaintances." The boy exchanged a dubious glance with the rat on his shoulder and shoulder and extended a small, pale hand.

"Hydrus Malfoy," he said. "This is Bosworth." The rat squeaked as if in greeting.

"A pleasure," she said politely, nodding to both the boy and his pet.

"Father didn't say he was expecting anyone today," he added, giving her a suspicious look. "He said to leave him alone."

"He'll see me," Marlene assured him. The boy looked a little surprised and then doubtful and then he unlatched the gate. She let him lead her up to the house and inside, her in silence, compulsively gripping her wand, and him chattering to the rat about going flying.

"Wait here," the boy said. Marlene stood patiently, staring around the foyer with disgust because Lucius - and likely his wife, Narcissa - deserved little better than a dirty cell in Azkaban, yet they were living like wizarding royalty. It had taken her a while to reconcile with the idea of facing him again, for the first time since that horrible night in August eight years ago.

All the stress was worth it, however, to see Lucius baulk at the sight of her waiting in his fancy hallway, and see his lips tighten as she patted his son on the head and thanked him for letting her inside. The boy had been so busy talking to his rat that he hadn't noticed her wand casually resting by his neck – though he'd looked irritated that she'd touched him - but Lucius certainly had. He had swallowed once and given her a nod that she took to mean _Warning received_, before he spun and led her into his office.

"Nice house for a murderer," she commented.

"The Ministry has pardoned my actions during the War because I was not myself," Lucius said flatly.

"Funny what money's capable of, isn't it?"

Lucius didn't seem to think so. "What can I do for you, McKinnon?" he asked coolly.

She twirled her wand between her fingers - a not-so-subtle-warning - and said, "You can give me a role in your search." His pale eyebrows rose, as if he hadn't been expecting to hear that. She laughed, a sharp, cruel sound. "You didn't honestly think I stopped by to say hello, did you?"

"I can allocate you a position in the muggle world," he said curtly, ignoring her last comment. "You've worked with Lupin before, I believe."

There was no point in denying what he already knew, but she didn't like the fact that he was referring to the Order. "I have," she said. "But I don't want a job searching muggle London. I want a position in the wizarding world because that's where they'll be hiding." Sirius wouldn't last long without magic, she knew.

"I'm afraid we don't have any positions available in that-"

"Rubbish," she snapped. "I've been reading the papers. I know your search makes room for whoever the Department of Magical Law Enforcement tells you to make room for. I'm here now, telling you to make room for me."

"I was not aware you had a position in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement," Lucius said snidely. He fixed a rather scary looking smile on his aristocratic face and shuffled a few pieces of parchment on his desk. "Unfortunately, Ms McKinnon, your demand will be ignored."

"You can't do that!" she said furiously.

"Oh, but I can. This is my search."

_You bigoted, egotistical arse,_ she thought, giving him her best glare. She was a little out of practice, having been alone for so long but, while he didn't flinch, his smug look faded. She hid a small, victorious smile.

"We'll see about that." She smiled politely, just to make him wonder what she was going to do next and then stood. "I'll see myself out," she told him. He nodded stiffly. "Give my regards to your house elf, too," she added. "I'm rather fond of him, for obvious reasons."

She had the pleasure of seeing shock and anger cross Lucius' usually unreadable face and then she walked out of the office and shut the door behind her with a sharp snap.

Half an hour later, Marlene was sitting in Amelia Bones' office at the Ministry of Magic, being served a strong cup of tea.

"Sorry to arrive like this," Marlene said; Amelia had been on her way out of the office when she arrived.

"Dinner can wait. What can I do for you?" Amelia asked briskly. She'd been shocked and pleased to see Marlene; usually they ran into each other at St Mungo's and that was it. The last time they'd spoken properly was in February about Sirius' escape and before that they hadn't had a proper talk since she helped Marlene move into Number Thirteen.

Marlene fought two equally strong desires and then said, "Harry. You were there - the paper said you saw him."

"Yes."

"Can you tell me about him?" Marlene asked in a small voice.

Amelia's gave her an understanding smile. "He has Lily's eyes and nose and her temper too, I think, but his was better controlled. Or maybe he was just scared. The rest of him is James. When I walked in and saw him..."

"And his personality?" Marlene asked, trying to build a picture of the boy in her mind. She'd asked Dumbledore if she could raise him, but by the time she'd been released from St Mungo's, he was already settled in with Lily's sister and Dumbledore wouldn't be swayed. Given her lonely existence for the past seven years, Dumbledore had probably been right to refuse her but it was still strange to have no idea what the boy she'd once considered raising even looked like.

"It's hard to say," Amelia said. "I wasn't there long and the circumstances were... not ideal." Her tone darkened significantly. Marlene opened her mouth to ask about it but Amelia's jaw was set and Marlene decided not to bother. Ravenclaws could be just as stubborn as Gryffindors if they were so inclined, and at the moment, Amelia appeared to be.

"Harry's not the only reason I came," she admitted after a moment.

"Of course he isn't," Amelia said, not looking surprised at all. "What else can I help you with?"

"I want a position in the D.M.L.E.," Marlene said, fixing the other witch with a steady look.

"Done," Amelia said simply.

"Just like that?"

"Marlene, I've known you for years, both in the Order and out," Amelia said, rolling her eyes. "Admittedly, I haven't seen much of you recently but I'm sure you're still very capable and you did extremely well in your N.E. ." She hesitated and then added, "I'm just surprised you've gone this long without searching for a job."

"I inherited a lot," Marlene mumbled.

"I know that, but goodness, don't you get bored? What have you been doing all these years?"

"Not a lot," she admitted, her cheeks reddening. "Cleaning, mostly."

"Cleaning?" Amelia asked flatly. Marlene nodded. "You poor thing. Dumbledore told us all-"

"Us?"

"The ones that are left," Amelia said, adding sugar to her tea cup.

"Oh. What did Dumbledore say?"

"To give you time," Amelia said, stirring her drink. "But goodness, if I'd known you'd spent the last eight years_cleaning_ I probably would have done something about it before now-"

"It hasn't bothered me before now," Marlene said, staring at her hands.

Amelia gave her a doubtful look and then shook her head. "I'm glad you've finally seen sense, then."

"So am I."

"Now, we've got a position in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office - do you remember Gideon and Fabian?"

"Of course."

"Their sister's husband, Arthur Weasley works there. Or there's always the Animagus Registration Department. Or maybe-"

"I want to be a Hit Wizard," Marlene said. "Or Witch, I suppose."

Amelia stared at her. "You-"

"Me," Marlene said. "I want to be out there doing something, Amelia, not stamping parchment and sending owls."

"They only take the best," Amelia said.

"I know."

"Gryffindors," Amelia sighed. "I can get you into the Auror Training Program."

"I said Hit Witch, not Auror-"

"I can't just give you a position in the Hit Wizard Training Program," Amelia said, rolling her eyes. "Poole would have my head."

"Poole?"

"Co-leader of the office."

"Co-leader?"

"Hit Wizards lead dangerous lives," Amelia said. "It's highly probable that they'll be hurt or killed and after Prof- I mean, Caradoc Dearborn vanished, they opted to have numerous leaders. Currently, we have Thomas Poole, Victoria Knight and Maurice Lloyd. They're all very capable, I assure you."

Marlene vaguely recognised the names; they'd been a few years above her at Hogwarts. "I have no doubt," she said. Lloyd had been a Gryffindor, and Head Boy, and the other two had been Ravenclaws, like Amelia. "So when do I start?" Marlene ducked as an owl flew in and dropped a roll of parchment on Amelia's desk.

"The next Program intake is in four days," Amelia said absently, signing the parchment. "You're lucky, actually. It's the first intake for a few years."

"Hasn't there been interest?" Marlene asked, surprised.

"The Program only takes trainees every three years," Amelia replied. "They made exceptions during the war, and then for a few years after to get numbers up again, but things are back to normal now." She passed the parchment back to the owl which hooted its thanks and flew out again, ruffling Marlene's hair.

"How long will it take me to make it into the-?"

"Depends," Amelia said, cutting her off, "on your progress." Marlene nodded. "I suggest you go over your N.E.W.T. textbooks. Now, this tells you about the Auror Training Program and this one's about Hit Wizard Training Program-" Marlene accepted a pair of pamphlets, one maroon and the other dark green. "-and this-" Amelia passed her a thin booklet. "-tells you about the jobs in general."

"Thank you."

Amelia took a sip of her tea. "Now, on the first day, be here at seven, ready to start at eight. The order changes each time, but you'll do a preliminary test to assess your character and then there's physical testing. You'll be required to Side-Along Apparate with one of the Aurors three times in an hour over a variety of distances, hold a Shield Charm for ten minutes and also complete whichever spells you're told to do." She paused and took another sip of tea. "If you don't mind me asking, Marlene, why do you want to be a Hit Witch?"

"It has a shorter training period," Marlene said. "It's only a year, isn't it?"

"It is. If you're looking for Black, though-"

"Who says I am?" Marlene demanded.

"All I was going to say was that the Auror pathway might be a better choice," Amelia said gently. "Hit Wizards will be called in to detain Black. Aurors are involved in tracking him too."

"Oh." Marlene stared at her tea.

"Either way," Amelia continued, "I would recommend you have a chat with Scrimgeour and with Poole and decide which pathway you think is best."

"This is like my careers advice meeting with McGonagall," Marlene said, smiling slightly.

"I hope this one turns out better," Amelia said, lifting an eyebrow. "I'd hate to see you go back to cleaning."

* * *

After Remus left the day before, Harry had told his godfather everything that happened in the cave - Padfoot's memory was sketchy, particularly on the contents of the note - and then spent the night in Padfoot's room, coaxing his godfather to tell him stories from their school-days in the hope that he'd let something about the wolf secret slip. Unfortunately, Padfoot either knew what Harry was trying to do and picked his words carefully, or was well used to keeping whatever it was hidden and Harry learned nothing about Remus.

Harry had woken early the next morning, sweaty and with a sore throat. Kreacher had been standing over him, concerned. Harry had very quickly noticed the smoking desk chair and resolved not to go back to sleep. Instead, he and Kreacher had talked quietly until Padfoot started to stir in the next room.

Padfoot had woken feeling just as bad as he had before, Harry was certain, but had tried not to show it; he'd got up, determined not to spend the day in bed and had promptly collapsed on the way downstairs to breakfast. Harry had been worried out of his mind, and spent the entire day pacing around Padfoot's bedroom - pausing occasionally to try to get him to drink hot chocolate - which had resulted in him and Kreacher getting covered in the hot, sticky liquid and very little going in Padfoot's mouth - and shooting spells at the dummy in the training room downstairs.

Remus had owled, explaining he couldn't come because Malfoy was keeping him busy with the search, and that he was being watched by the Ministry – particularly the Umbridge woman Harry had so disliked – who suspected (admittedly correctly) that Remus had somehow helped Sirius steal Harry out of St Mungo's. He'd said he'd come by the next day, instead.

Padfoot had woken the next day and seemed better, if tired. For Harry, it was the first night since the visit to the cave that he hadn't set something on fire, though he'd still dreamed. Harry and Kreacher had helped Padfoot into the library – because he insisted on reading about Horcruxes - and set him up on the couch with a large pile of books on Dark magic and the copy of Regulus' note.

Harry had left him to it, since it meant he'd have a chance to read up on wolves.

He waited patiently for Padfoot to become immersed in whatever he was reading – he didn't seem able to find what he was looking for and was soon flipping impatiently through the indexes of various books - and then got up to search the bookshelves. _So what do I know about Remus?_ he mused, trying to decide where to start. _He's a wolf, or he said he was, and Padfoot did too, a while ago I think. It has to be a magical ability, or he wouldn't be so secretive about it... maybe a rare talent, or something illegal... _

_He's got enhanced senses like Padfoot, but he's not an Animagus... how's that even possible?!_ Harry thought for a moment. _Maybe he takes a potion that turns him into a wolf... _Deciding that was a good place to start, Harry browsed the shelves until he found a promising book titled _An Encyclopaedia Of Modern Potions_.

He had to stand on a chair to get it down – he laughed at himself for not thinking to use his wand - and then settled at the table, flicking through the index for 'wolf'.

'Wolfsbane' was the only entry. _Page three-hundred and ninety four..._ Harry thought, leafing through.

_The Wolfsbane Potion,_ the page said,_ was invented by potioneer Damocles Belby, as a coping mechanism for lycanthropy. Belby began work on the potion in 1980, after his wife Louise was bitten by a werewolf. In 1984, he succeeded in creating a potion that allows werewolves to keep their human minds during their monthly transformation. The ingredients required are..._ Harry shut the book and pushed it aside, thinking potions had been the wrong way to go.

Werewolves seemed to be a common theme in all of the other books he checked, though; they were in_Fantastic Beasts And Where to Find Them, Britain's Magical Fauna _and there was a picture of one in a book with a Latin title Harry couldn't understand, about human to animal transfiguration. Unfortunately, they seemed to be the only type of magical wolf around. Harry had been sure he'd find his answers in _Where Wizards and Wolves Collide_ but that had been all about werewolves too.

Harry slumped in his chair, irritated, and convinced he'd missed something. It was possible, he supposed, that Remus was a werewolf, but he hardly seemed the type. He was friendly and polite, if a little withdrawn from wizarding affairs - why else would he live so far away from anyone else...?

_Unless..._ Harry straightened and grabbed _Where Wizards and Wolves Collide_. He skimmed the introductory chapter which gave an abbreviated summary of what the rest of the book contained and then leaned back, the pieces clicking together in his head. _Maybe Remus lives so far away so he doesn't hurt anyone..._ Remus did seem like the type to put others before himself; Harry had seen him do so at St Mungo's, rarely leaving Harry's side, even to go home.

Harry ran over everything else he knew about Remus and tried to make it fit with his theory. _He likes tea, but that's not really relevant... he has an enhanced sense of smell and hearing. And scars, _Harry thought, remembering Remus' hands; the book had said werewolves without access to victims on full moons were prone to self-mutilation. _His nickname's Moony... it all fits! _

Harry glanced at his godfather, who had fallen asleep on the couch and smiled, though he was rather puzzled. Two things still didn't make sense about his werewolf theory; the first was that Remus was a nice person, while all of the books made werewolves out to be dangerous monsters. _The books could be wrong though, I suppose. People think Padfoot's a mass murderer after all... Or maybe Remus is the exception... he's a good werewolf. _

Either way, Harry decided he didn't much care; Remus had been perfectly friendly to Harry so far, and Padfoot had never mentioned anything potentially evil about him in any of the stories he'd told, except for his tendency to spend too much time reading - a habit Harry was beginning to pick up - and fondness for large amounts of chocolate. The other thing that didn't make sense was Animagi.

_It doesn't make any sense for Dad, Padfoot and Pettigrew to have become Animagi. Obviously Remus was a werewolf first or he'd have become an Animagus with them... I can't see them leaving him out of anything that big... so perhaps it was _because_ of him. Maybe they all wanted to be animals together... But that's dangerous. Padfoot's certainly not a werewolf so maybe they never went with him on full moons but then what's the point...? _

Harry found the answer to that too, after half an hour poring over a thick book called _Contagious Creatures. They aren't dangerous to non-humans! _That had to be it; his dad, Padfoot and Pettigrew had become Animagi to keep Remus company on full moons! _That's why Remus said the secret wasn't his to keep, because he wasn't an Animagus. And Dumbledore knows he's a werewolf because they would have had to make arrangements while he went to school... The Shrieking Shack!_

Harry rolled off his chair and ran over to retrieve _Famous Wizarding Locations_ from the shelf and excitedly pulled the book open to the Hogsmeade chapter; he and Padfoot had gone through this several times, to give Harry an idea of where his stories were taking place. Harry's mind wandered back to when he and Padfoot had been in Hogsmeade – that was almost two weeks ago, now.

Harry remembered his own voice, _"And that's where you and Dad and Moony and Pettigrew went to transform?" _

_"It was like our hideout, yeah."_ That had been Padfoot.

_So they spent some time there, but I was wrong... maybe the windows were boarded to keep Moony _in _instead of keeping other witches and wizards _out_._ A slow smile spread across Harry's face as he read the passage relevant to the Shrieking Shack. According to the book, it had been bought by a young Hogwarts Professor in early 1971 and abandoned - but not re-sold - only a month later with complaints it was haunted. _Padfoot said he started school that year_, Harry thought, his smile widening, though it dimmed somewhat when he read about villagers hearing tortured howls and cries every now and then.

_That must have been Remus..._ Harry retrieved _Hogwarts: A History _from another shelf, pausing to smile at the messy scrawl in the front cover that said it had been Padfoot's. Judging by the fresh pages, smooth spine and the sharp corners of the front cover, it had not been opened except to let an eleven-year-old-Padfoot write his name in it.

Harry flicked to 1971 - skipping the list of graduates and their houses since he didn't know any of them anyway - and glanced over the 'notable events' section. Nothing really stood out; it was Albus Dumbledore's fifteenth year as Headmaster, Hogwarts acquired a new ghost, Argus Filch was hired as caretaker, the Whomping Willow was planted and Peeves the poltergeist - who Harry had heard a lot about from Padfoot - had blown up the house-point hourglasses - which used to be in the Great Hall - prompting them to be repaired and moved into the Entrance Hall.

A little disappointed that nothing terribly exciting had happened as far as Remus was concerned, Harry snapped the book shut, put everything he'd used back into their proper places - that is, wherever there was room for them - and headed downstairs to fetch a cup of hot chocolate for his godfather.

"Wasshappnin?" Padfoot asked groggily, as Harry shook him awake.

"You fell asleep."

Padfoot glanced around the library, bemused. "Huh."

"Here," Harry said, passing him the cup. Padfoot wrinkled his nose. "It'll make you better," he said.

"For Salazar's sake," he muttered. "_Thank you_, then."

Harry sniggered. "It isn't that bad."

Padfoot's eyes narrowed. "I will _never_ drink hot chocolate again after this," he vowed. "And I might not eat chocolate, either." He took a sip and pulled a face but managed to swallow. The rest of the cup was downed in another few seconds; Padfoot had told Harry he preferred to get unpleasant things over quickly instead of drawing them out.

"How far away do you think Remus is?" Harry asked casually. He was eager to test his theory, though he wasn't sure how; Remus had been evasive so far when it came to answering questions. "The later just said today."

"Dunno," Padfoot said, checking his watch. "Depends how long his meeting with Malfoy took-" The doorbell clanged. Padfoot shook his head. "That's him. Kreacher!" CRACK! "Could you let Moony in and tell him he's a prat?" Kreacher gave Padfoot an odd look but bowed low and Disapparated.

There was the usual squeak of floorboards to let them know Remus was inside. Harry and Padfoot made their way downstairs at their own pace - Padfoot went in dog-form, his tail wagging weakly - and found Remus waiting in the hallway. His back was to them, and he was looking interestedly into the training room. Padfoot changed back, sagged and caught the banister for support.

'Why am I a prat?" Remus asked, turning.

"You could have just come in," Padfoot said. "Ringing the doorbell, honestly."

"I didn't want to be rude. And are you training an army here, Sirius?" Harry saw his eyes were fixed on the muggle dart boards taped to the walls, the Auror-Standard Training Dummy and the faint shimmer of Cushioning Charms on the walls and floor.

"Yes," he said with a grin. "My own little Death Eater army. Haven't you been reading the papers?"

Remus chuckled. "Any recruits?"

"And old house elf and my best mate's kid. Why? Would you like to join?"

"Will it last longer than the other organisations you've come up with?"

"Our Canine Club lasted all through sixth year!" Padfoot protested.

"The Unicorn Association lasted about twenty seconds, if that," Remus said slyly.

Padfoot shrugged. "We got a better offer." Remus smiled and shook his head. "Are you hungry?"

"Famished, actually. I had Dumbledore knocking on my door at seven to tell me what's been going on at the Ministry so I missed breakfast."

"Kreacher's making pies for lunch," Harry said. Remus' eyes brightened.

"Did old Dumbles have anything interesting to say?" Padfoot asked.

"Sirius," Remus said weakly, "you _can't_ keep calling him that."

"Why not?" Padfoot asked, while Harry laughed.

"Because."

"That's a rubbish answer," Padfoot said, waving his wand to light the kitchen properly; the only lamp lit was over by the counter where Kreacher was working.

"Chances are I'll meet with him and that name will slip out by accident," Remus insisted as they sat.

"He'd find it funny, I think," Padfoot said chuckled. From what Harry'd seen of Professor Dumbledore, he was inclined to agree. Padfoot's chuckles turned into coughs and Harry and Remus sat in anxious silence, waiting for him to finish.

"What happened to you?" Remus asked when Padfoot stopped. Harry glanced at Padfoot and then away quickly.

"Are those pies ready, Kreacher?" Padfoot asked, clearing his throat. Kreacher snapped his fingers and three plates floated over.

"Thanks," Harry said. Padfoot nodded.

"It looks wonderful, Kreacher." Remus said, slicing his pie open. "But don't change the subject."

Padfoot sighed. "We were... looking for something of Regulus'. A- a note. He- it was... well protected."

"By...?" Remus prompted when neither of them said anything.

"Inferi," Padfoot said. "And Dementor's Draught."

"Very funny," Remus snapped. Harry and Padfoot exchanged glances and then Harry cleared his throat.

"You saw my injuries," Harry said. "Bruises in the shapes of hands and fingers, remember?" Remus had gone a nasty shade of white and pushed his pie away.

"Please tell me-" Padfoot pushed his lunch around his plate and shook his head. Remus looked at Harry who looked back. "What in Merlin's name were you thinking?!" he demanded.

"That-"

"Sirius, Harry is _nine_," Remus said loudly. "Inferi!? _You _shouldn't even have gone, let alone-! What the bloody hell were you thinking?!"

"Maybe that I needed the help?" Padfoot shot back. "Who else would have come with me?"

"Well-"

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Padfoot said, rather condescendingly. "Yes, perhaps it was irresponsible of me-" Remus snorted loudly. "- but I would have _died_ if he hadn't been there." Harry and Padfoot's eyes met, briefly, in silent acknowledgement. "And if I had to do things over, I'd still take him with me." Moony mumbled something about how no, Padfoot wouldn't take Harry, and what about him? "You?" Padfoot asked. "You weren't there!" He paused to cough violently.

"Sirius-"

"No!" Sirius choked out, coughing once to clear his throat. "There was _no one _else. I took him then, and I'd do it again-" And Harry would go again, if it came to it. "-if only so he knows where I am-"

"And if you had died?" Remus asked, shaking his head. "Would you want Harry to see that?"

"No," Sirius said. "Of course I fucking wouldn't. But I'd rather he see that, than be sitting here alone, not sure what's happened, or when I'm going to come home. I know, intimately, what it's like to wait." Padfoot's eyes were oddly empty. Harry didn't like it. "I know that didn't work so well in the end," he said, suddenly talking to Harry, "and I am so_, so_ unbelievably sorry about that-"

"'S all right," Harry mumbled. "I don't remember much of it anyway." And that was true; he'd been so tired, in pain and so scared that he couldn't remember much more than Hedwig in the study, his accidental magic in the hallway and shouting at Kreacher a lot.

"At least we got Mum's portrait down," Padfoot said. He winked. "I'd have gone missing a long time ago if I'd known you'd do that." Harry, oddly, found himself grinning. Padfoot turned back to Remus. "We took Cadogan's pony, all right?" he said. Harry frowned at the unfamiliar expression but Remus seemed to understand. "I don't like that that was the way it had to happen but it's done and we're still here. That's got to count for something, surely?"

Remus stared at his hands for a long time. "So the fire... it was to keep the Inferi away?"

"How do you know about the fire?" Padfoot demanded, but there was no anger behind it. He seemed surprised, and a little relieved that Remus had asked such a mundane question. Harry sank into his chair.

"Harry's dreams about it. How's the room been when you wake up?" Harry shrugged. Padfoot gave him a sharp look and Harry knew he'd have to explain later. Remus' eyes flicked between the two of them and dropped the topic. "I take it you were the one who drank," Remus said, nodding at Padfoot.

"I'm not _that_ irresponsible!" Padfoot complained.

Remus arched an eyebrow, but he was wearing a half-smile. It faded quickly. "How- how... much?"

"Ten goblets," Harry said quietly and felt the little of his lunch he'd managed to eat try to make a reappearance. _T-to the Dark Lord, _Padfoot's broken voice mumbled in his head.

"Was it?" Padfoot asked, paling for a moment.

"Ten... no wonder you're drinking all the hot chocolate." Remus shook his head. "So what was it you were looking for?"

"The name of something of Voldemort's." Remus stared. Padfoot ran a hand over his chin. "Have you ever heard of a Horcrux?"

Harry's head snapped up in time to see Remus shake his head. "Sorry, no. What is it?"

"No idea."

All three of them managed to finish enough of their lunches to satisfy Kreacher and then Harry took Remus upstairs to see the locket. Remus stared at it for a long time and then shrugged, still at a loss, but curious. They joined Padfoot in the library, where the three of them picked a book and settled down to read.

Padfoot and Moony talked quietly the whole time – Harry didn't know how they were able to read as well – about a whole range of things. Harry struggled to read – he'd done enough of that that morning – and ended up staring at the same sentence for minutes without taking it in or listening to the conversations; sometimes it was Remus apologising for not visiting Padfoot in Azkaban, other times it was Padfoot asking about Remus' jobs and girlfriends but it always seemed to come back to Horcruxes.

They were there for the rest of the day; Kreacher brought dinner to the library and even sat with the for a while, though he didn't read. He polished the Black ring Padfoot had let him keep and finally, after a lot of deliberation – and some prodding from Padfoot – slipped it onto his bony finger. Every time he spoke to any of them after that, he'd make a small gesture with his hand as if to remind them it was there.

Much later that night – or perhaps it was early the next morning – they gave up on the books because they'd found nothing and went back downstairs to have a cup of tea before bed – and Remus going home, respectively. The conversation had switched to Malfoy now, the man that Harry remembered was funding the search to find him.

"I said Malfoy's got control," Remus said. "He's pulled a few strings with Fudge, I think, and now he's got the Aurors dancing to his tune as well as the rest of us." Remus sighed. "Mad-Eye's furious, apparently – I don't think he even wanted the searches to combine - but Scrimgeour's never listened to Mad-Eye-" Padfoot snorted in a way that made Harry think this wasn't news.

"Why doesn't he join Malfoy's search then?" Padfoot asked.

"Mad-Eye, submit to the likes of Malfoy?" Remus asked incredulously. "Not likely. All of the experienced Aurors are working with the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures to find Greyback anyway."

"Greyback?" Padfoot asked.

Harry could have sworn Remus' eyes flicked to him for a moment. He watched him back and then shrugged and filled the kettle. "He's attacking people again. Three in the past month."

"Again?" Padfoot asked.

"Oh, you wouldn't know," Remus said. "He's been active on and off since the war ended, just to remind people he's out there. I go to the camps every January to see how things are going and try to... erm... curb his enthusiasm."

"You?" Padfoot asked softly.

"Who else?" Remus asked, sighing. Padfoot didn't say anything but he didn't look terribly happy either.

Harry pulled the kettle off of the stove, and winced as his hand brushed the hot silver. _Bad idea to not pay attention_, he told himself as he held his hand under cold water from the tap. The burn had reminded him of something though; with everything happening that afternoon, he'd forgotten to ask Remus about the whole werewolf thing.

Harry added tea leaves and water to the silver, Black embossed teapot and fetched three cups - he'd deliberately picked a porcelain one for Remus, instead of a silver one - and carried the whole lot over to the table.

"Thank you," Remus said to Harry, glancing at his cup and then at Padfoot. Padfoot shrugged and poured tea for Remus and then for himself.

"No problem. Thanks," Harry added, as Padfoot passed the teapot.

Padfoot and Moony continued to talk about Malfoyt and the search as they drank, about Malfoy and the search. Remus was intending to tell Malfoy he'd been tipped off about a sighting of Harry and Sirius near the Dursley's home to draw suspicion away from London. Harry listened with interest and waited for Remus to finish his drink; Harry had finished his own already and was waiting for the right moment to offer him another cup.

Finally, Remus set his cup down and it made an empty noise. Harry reached for the teapot and poured himself another cup.

"Would you like some?" he asked, holding the teapot out.

"Yes, thank you," Remus said. Harry pushed it toward him. A funny expression crossed Remus' face. "Would you mind pouring for me?" he asked. Harry filled the cup with a sly grin.

"Sorry," he said, "I forgot about the silver thing." He took a sip of his own tea and waited for the reaction. It was well worth it. Padfoot blinked. Rapidly. And he'd spat half of his tea out. Remus' reaction was even better. His face was white and he'd gone perfectly still, his teacup a few inches from his mouth, tilted as if to drink from. Hot tea fell onto the table but Harry doubted he was aware of that. "Er... Remus?"

Padfoot set his teacup down, louder than he'd probably meant to and cleaned the spill with a wave of his wand. Then he tugged the cup from Remus' tight grip and set it down. "I think you've broken him," he told Harry.

"Are you sure? Can we... how do we fix him?" Harry asked, feeling a little guilty now.

"Oh, that's easy," Padfoot said and gave Remus a slap. Harry winced.

Remus' eyes came sharply back into focus and landed on Padfoot. "I thought you said-"

"I did. I don't know-"

"How do you know?" Remus asked Harry quietly.

"Know what?" Harry asked, confused.

"About my... about silver."

"Oh, I... er... read about it." Remus' head hit the table with a thump.

"_You_ read?" Padfoot asked, looking amused. "You never read."

"I wanted to know," Harry said defensively. He glanced at Remus. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean- Are you all right?" Harry asked.

"Brilliant," Remus groaned into the table.

"Then why-?" Padfoot gave Harry a nudge and shook his head.

"Chin up, Moony old chap," Padfoot said.

"No," Remus said into the table.

Padfoot rolled his eyes, grinning. "You would have told him eventually."

"I know," Remus said, his voice muffled, "but I could have prepared myself for that instead of having it sprung on me." He looked up and glowered at Padfoot. "Again."

"It must be a Potter thing," Padfoot said brightly. Remus rolled his eyes.

"Can I talk?" Harry whispered. Padfoot chuckled. Harry turned to Remus. "Do you, I mean, do you mind if I call you Moony?" he asked.

Remus blinked looking thrown by the sudden change in topic. "I... er... I suppose not, no."

"Thanks," Harry said happily.

Moony and Padfoot seemed to have been having a silent conversation - Harry remembered Padfoot telling him they'd used to do it to disturb Peter or make a teacher nervous - and turned to Harry in unison.

"What else do you know about, other than the silver?" Padfoot asked carefully, his grey eyes flicking toward Moony.

"Not a lot. I know you have heightened senses," Harry offered. "And... er... a bit of a... erm... problem... on full moons."

"A bit of a problem," Moony said with a humourless laugh as his head dropped onto the table again. "If there was any doubt whose son he was..."

"It's gone now," Padfoot said, his eyes very bright.

"And I know you used to go to the Shrieking Shack to transform," Harry said. "I used to think it was just for Animagus transformations but I worked it out. That's why you did it, isn't it?" he asked, turning to his godfather. "To keep Moony company?"

Padfoot nodded. "James and I used to call it Remus' furry little problem-"

"As a joke-" Moony added.

"It wasn't a joke," Padfoot said, scowling. "Moony here quite liked to whine," he told Harry, jerking his head toward an exasperated Moony, "about all of his problems - still does, by the looks of things - and the day we confronted him about it, Prongs said it was nothing more than a furry little problem." Moony made a little noise of disagreement. "And it's still just that," Padfoot said firmly. Moony made a face. "The name stuck."

"Most people were under the impression I owned a badly behaved rabbit," Moony sighed.

"James and I had a _lot_ of fun encouraging that rumour," Padfoot said with a wolfish grin.

Moony huffed at Padfoot and then turned to Harry, brown eyes wide and earnest. "Look, Harry, the reality of the situation is that I'm dangerous-"

"On full moons," Harry said. "Yeah, I know." Padfoot beamed.

"Yes, but-"

"But what?"

"He's got nothing, kiddo," Padfoot said, grinning at a stunned Moony. "Absolutely nothing."

"I've got something," Moony said hotly. "It's called lycanthropy and-"

"And it's only transferrable on full moons," Padfoot told him shortly.

"That's not proven," Moony protested. "They don't know the consequences yet-"

"What do you want, Moony?" Padfoot asked, exasperated. "You were saying yesterday that you've been begging Dumbledore to give you custody of Harry for years and now all of a sudden you're too dangerous to spend time with him?"

"Well, I..." Moony frowned and closed his mouth. Harry sniggered.

"As Harry's legal guardian-"

"A position obtained through illegal practices," Moony muttered.

"Hush," Padfoot told him. "As I was saying, as Harry's legal guardian, it falls to me to decide who I'm comfortable having around him."

"I'm right here!" Harry said. "I can make those decisions for myself, thanks."

"Do you agree with me?" Padfoot asked.

"Well, yeah, of course I-"

"Then be quiet," Padfoot said, with a grin. "As I was saying, I- _we_ are more than happy to have you around, Moony."

Moony swallowed. "I've needed this," he said.

"What, someone to keep the self-loathing to a minimum?" Padfoot teased.

"Yes," Moony said bluntly. He turned back to Harry. "You will not, under any circumstances come near me on a full moon. Am I clear?"

_For now, _Harry decided, wondering how old one had to be to become an Animagus. "Yeah, you're clear."

"Good," Padfoot said. "Now, as far as full moons are concerned..." he said excitedly.

"Have you always been this sadistic, Padfoot?" Moony asked dryly. "Getting excited over the prospect of me in pain?"

"No, you git," Padfoot said. "Now that you know I'm not a murdering lunatic, I can come out with you again."

Harry didn't think he'd ever seen anyone smile as hugely as Moony did then.


	19. Mirrors At The Ministry

"Keith?" Tonks said, a little surprised as she pulled open the front door.

"Hey," he said, running a hand over his short, neatly styled hair. "This is for you." He passed her a pale pink rose.

"Oh!" she said, blushing. She was fairly sure her hair was the same colour as the flower. "Thank you." She hugged him. "I'd invite you in but I'm practically on my way out."

"What time do you have to leave?" he asked.

She checked her watch. "Five minutes if I'm going to be there on time, and I don't want to be late on my first day."

"Oh," he said, looking a little disappointed. "Well, what time do you finish?"

"Five today, and then I'm meeting Mum and Dad at the studio and we're going out to dinner."

"How about tomorrow?" he asked.

"Eight until five tomorrow as well, but I'm not doing anything afterward."

"Would you like to go out?" he asked hopefully.

She smiled. "Sure."

"How does Hogsmeade sound?"

"Meet at six?" she asked.

"Sounds brilliant," he said, beaming.

She checked her watch. "All right, sorry, but I've got to finish getting ready."

"Yeah, that's fine," he said.

"I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah. Have a good day today."

"Thanks. You too." Tonks ducked back inside as he set off down the street. She put the rose in a vase by the sink where it had access to sunlight and crossed to the kitchen table where – after a moment of sadness - she vanished her half-finished breakfast.

Oddly, her appetite seemed to increase and not fade when she was nervous, and she was certainly nervous; her hair had been lime green for days. She grabbed her rucksack - which had a drink bottle and a sandwich in it - added an apple and swung it over her shoulder.

"Bye, Mum!" she called. She got a sleepy reply from her parents' bedroom - Dad had already left but Mum probably wouldn't be up for another hour - and then, pausing only to check her appearance in the hallway mirror, tossed Floo Powder into the fireplace and said, "Ministry of Magic!"

The flames began to clear and then she stopped moving altogether. Tonks stepped out, tripped on her hem and fell flat on her face in the Ministry atrium. _A brilliant start to the day, _she thought, dazedly, letting a twitchy little wizard help her off the polished wood floor.

"Thank you," Tonks said, staring around. She'd been to the Ministry several times but it felt different coming as an adult and not a little girl clutching her father's hand.

"Not a problem, dear," the little wizard said. He flashed a badge at the witch at the security stand and she nodded and waved him through.

"What can I do for you?" the witch asked, spotting Tonks.

"I'm an Auror trainee," she said, pulling her acceptance letter out of her rucksack.

"Good for you," the witch said. "Hold still, please." She waved a long, golden rod up Tonks' front and back and then nodded, satisfied. "Wand, please." Tonks passed it over after a moment's hesitation. She felt bare without it and watched nervously as the witch placed it on a strange brass device. A moment later it had procured a small sheet of parchment. "Twelve and a half inches, pear, with a dragon-heartstring core. You've had it for seven years, yes?"

"Yes," Tonks said. The witch copied the parchment with a tap of her own wand and impaled one on a spike behind the counter. She signed the second piece and passed it and Tonks' wand back.

"Give that to Scrimgeour," she said.

"Thank you," Tonks said, stuffing both into her pocket. She hurried through a set of golden gates behind the stand and waited patiently for a lift to arrive.

"Level Two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters and Wizengamot Administration Services," a cool female voice said. Tonks spent the lift ride trying to get her hair to resemble something other than one of the cacti her mother kept on the kitchen windowsill. She was met with limited success; she managed to change the colour from green to a golden blonde but the spiky texture refused to change. She didn't bother trying to change her eyes much and left them a bright green.

The lift doors opened and Tonks stepped out - taking care not to trip - into a corridor lined with doors. She glanced at the windows through which she could see a rather vicious blizzard. It took her a moment to remember this part of the Ministry was still underground and it couldn't possibly be real.

She followed the hallway around a corner and through a set of heavy oak doors and came out in a very claustrophobic section. There were about fifty people squeezed into a very small space; about thirty of those people were trainees, another ten looked to be qualified Aurors and the rest simply seemed to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"Line up!" a loud voice growled. A man, not much taller than Tonks limped past, wand raised. She got a glimpse of one, very blue eye and a lot of dark grey, tangled hair before his back was to her. "Line up!" he shouted, shooting sparks into the air with his wand. The babble stopped immediately. "Single file, against the wall! Now!"

Tonks hurried to do what she was told, as did everyone else; the thirty or so trainees flattened themselves against the wall, clearing the hallway and allowing the Aurors to better access to their respective cubicles.

"I had it, thank you, Alastor," a man with bushy eyebrows, a mane of tawny hair and sharp yellowish eyes said stiffly. The Auror who'd shouted turned to look at him. For the first time, Tonks got a good look at him, and was more than a little intimidated; he was limping because he was missing a leg and had a roughly carved wooden one in its place. His face was had more scars and pockmarks than smooth skin and his mouth was little more than a grim line above his chin.

His most distinguishing feature, however, was a bright blue eye that seemed to be moving in its socket of its own accord; his other eye was small and dark and glanced around suspiciously, and it was then Tonks knew that this could only be Mad-Eye Moody, one of Britain's most acclaimed Aurors.

"Appearances are deceiving, aren't they, Scrimgeour?" he growled. Tonks glanced at the yellow-eyed man, who she knew must be Rufus Scrimgeour, the Head of the Auror Department. An ugly expression flickered over Scrimgeour's face.

"Now," she heard him snap, "when we call your name, follow Aurors Blackburn and Finch-" a stocky, blond man with a thick beard and a short, dark-haired woman nodded to them, "-to the end of the corridor, and they will give you directions. Are there any questions?"

"Who do we give these to?" a woman asked, holding her wand identification slip up.

"You'll give those to Auror Moody once you're down there," he said, jerking his head in Moody's direction.

"Allen, Jeanette," Moody said. A heavy woman with short brown hair jumped and extracted herself from the line. "Brown, Michael." A lanky man with a pointed moustache. "Bulkes, Burt." A short, weedy man with a weak chin. "Clarke, Melvin." A man with big blue eyes and mousy hair that looked like he should still be in Hogwarts. "Dale, Trixia." A blond woman wearing bright pink robes. "Edwards, Nicole." A very tall woman with a long black plait. "Gaspar, Jerimiah." A man with dreadlocks. "Hill, Wesley..." And on they went.

Moody had clearly done this before; he knew exactly how long to wait between names and only once did he falter on a name and that was, "McKinnon, Marlene." She was a tall woman with short, straight, brown hair. There was nothing overly distinguishing about her, but Moody wasn't the only one who'd looked up; several of the other Aurors had leant out of their cubicles to get a look at her.

McKinnon's eyes flicked around the room, and then, without any acknowledging of any of them, she walked after "Lowesly, Travis." Moody - who looked like he'd seen a ghost - shook himself and called, "Moore, Hector."

Tonks was one of four people left. It came as a relief when her name was finally called and she stumbled down the corridor. It was a dead end with only two doors; one was closed and said _Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office_, where Charlie's dad worked and the other was a broom cupboard.

"Tonks was it?" the female Auror asked.

"Yes," Tonks said, offering her hand.

"Auror Finch," she said.

"Auror Blackburn," said the man. She shook his hand too. "In you go." Tonks stepped into the small broom cupboard and glanced over her shoulder. Auror Finch nodded at her. Tonks kept walking, and just as she was about to hit the back wall, she found herself on a landing, looking down a flight of stairs. She descended slowly, making an effort not to trip, and came out in a large room, where the other trainees were huddled, chatting quietly.

There were two doors labelled _Lecture Hall 1 _and _Lecture Hall 2_ on the left and opposite those was a door labelled _Examination Room_ and next to that _Common Room._ Along the back wall were another seven doors;_Defensive and Offensive Combat, Stealth and Tracking, Warding and Protective Enchantments, Wizarding Relations and Law, Plants and Poisons, Concealment and Disguises _and_ Fitness and Healing._

Tonks joined the other trainees in the middle of the room and listened to the nervous chatter - it was like she was eleven and about to be Sorted again. Moody limped down the stairs once the final trainees were through, flanked by Aurors Finch and Blackburn.

"Constant vigilance!" he shouted, making most of them jump. "That's what we'll be teaching you here- Put that away." His blue eye was focused on one of the trainees, who'd procured a piece of parchment and a quill. She squeaked and stuffed it into her pocket. "It's not an easy program," he continued in his growling voice. "Some of you won't make it to graduation. Some of you won't make it in the real world."

_Not me_, Tonks thought. _I'm going to be an Auror. A good one._

"Allen to Lewis," Moody said, "you'll be in here, doing the physical testing first. Scrimgeour will be down in a moment. Lowesly to Yaxley, you're mental and with me." One boy sniggered at this. Tonks rolled her eyes and went to join the mental testing group on the right of the hall. Moody joined them a moment later and led them through the door labelled _Examination Room_. Inside was another room, reasonably large with a single, unlabelled door on the left, and extensive - obviously conjured - screening on the right. "Yaxley, you're up."

Yaxley was a woman with long blond hair and squinty eyes. She'd been a Slytherin at Hogwarts in Tonks' year and had always liked to give Charlie a hard time about his second hand robes and books. Tonks hadn't liked her much. Yaxley flashed a white smile at Moody who watched her without expression. The smile faded slightly and she walked through the curtains to the other side of the screen.

"Wait until you're called," Moody said to the rest of them as he too vanished through the curtains. Whispers broke out at once.

"What sort of tests do you think we'll have to do?" a man with crooked teeth asked.

"Didn't you read the pamphlet?" a woman said, rolling her eyes. "They do a series of tests and ask questions to assess our character. Once we pass that, we complete the physical examination. I'm Florence Prewett, by the way," she said, waving to everyone. A woman on Tonks' right - was it MacDonald? Makiller? - glanced up sharply but didn't say anything. A moment later, she went back to staring at the opposite wall.

Tonks knew the name - Prewett had been a Ravenclaw in seventh year when Tonks was in fifth – but the face was unfamiliar. Without the name, she wouldn't have recognised her at all; her dark hair was longer, her skin paler, as if she hadn't been outside for a long time. Her eyes were a little haunted.

"Hector Moore," said a man on Tonks' other side.

"James Thompson," said a Ravenclaw that Tonks knew from Hogwarts. He looked just as she remembered, down to the mole on his neck.

"Mary Wright," said a woman who'd been on the Gryffindor Quidditch Team three years ago.

"Lori Patel," said a woman Tonks had never seen before.

"Tonks," Tonks said, shrugging. The woman who'd looked at Florence Prewett looked up again. Tonks looked at her curiously and she looked away, pale all of a sudden.

"Tonks?" Lori Patel asked dubiously. "Is that your first name or your last?"

"Last," she said. Those who'd gone to Hogwarts with Tonks smiled amongst themselves and got back to introductions.

While Benjamin 'Wandless' Wellington who had been a Prefect in her first year at Hogwarts explained his nickname - a long and far-fetched story involving a dragon, a vampire and a Nose-Biting Teacup that Tonks wasn't sure she believed - Yaxley re-emerged looking shaken, and Moody took Mary Wright into the sequestered area.

"How'd it go?" Florence Prewett asked eagerly.

"Anyone that asks me questions gets an immediate fail," Yaxley said, flouncing over. She was shunned after that, left at the outskirts of the group and looked rather irritated about it.

When Wright emerged, Yaxley grabbed her arm and pulled her away from the main group. Tonks wondered idly if she knew Wright was a muggleborn and a Gryffindor to boot. They formed their own little huddle and talked - presumably, though no one could or wanted to hear what they were saying - about the mental tests. Wellington emerged and Tonks didn't even have time to feel nervous before she was summoned.

"Good luck!" Florence whispered. Tonks managed to flash her a quick smile and moved woodenly - thankfully she managed to stay upright - over to the screened area. She pushed through the curtains and stopped.

What must have been half of the Auror office was sitting there, watching her. They were sitting in a semi-circle, facing a simple wooden chair. "Wotcher," she said nervously.

"Sit," Moody growled at her, limping over to pull the curtains closed.

"You're Nymphadora Tonks?" a woman with an eye-patch asked.

"Yes," she said, flopping down into the chair. Her feet were a few from the ground so she willed her legs to grow a bit; she wasn't about to sit through this swinging her legs like a child.

"Wand identification," a wizard missing three fingers said, holding his hand out toward her. She rummaged around in her rucksack and pulled out the parchment she'd been given in the atrium. It was a little creased but still readable. "Pear and dragon-heartstring. Twelve and a half inches. You've had it for seven years?"

"Yes," she said again.

"Do you remember the day you bought it?" he asked. His voice was rather nasally.

"Yes."

"Can you describe what happened when it chose you?"

"Sparks came out of the end," she said nervously.

"What colour were the sparks?"

"Rainbow," she said.

The wizard wrote something down on a clipboard and passed it to the next Auror - a witch - in line. "You received five N.E.W.T.s, yes?"

"Yes," she said.

"O's in Herbology, Transfiguration and Potions and E's in Defence Against the Dark Arts and Charms, is that correct?"

"Yes."

"Your Transfiguration mark is the second highest we've ever had," the witch said, consulting the parchment in front of her. Tonks beamed. "Very impressive, very impressive indeed." She passed the clipboard along.

The next wizard, an absolutely enormous man with a mop of dark curly hair, stood and retrieved a large mirror from behind his chair. Tonks didn't recognise the language but it had the words _tidn ih ebla mina ehtt ube cafru oyt on wohsi_ etched into the gilded frame.

"What do you see?" he asked in a deep voice that matched his appearance perfectly.

"Me," she said timidly, glancing at her pale reflection. She willed a bit more colour into her cheeks.

"Look closer."

Tonks did, and still saw only herself. "I don't see anything-"

"Nothing?" a witch with a beaky nose said sharply.

"Well, no, not nothing," she said, as the Aurors exchanged significant looks. "I see me, but you said I'm not supposed-"

The man holding the mirror snorted and turned it towards him. He nodded once and turned it toward the witch with the hooked nose and she frowned, nodding.

"What do you see?" he asked, turning it back towards Tonks.

"Myself," she said flatly.

"Proudfoot," Moody barked, tilting his head toward the back of the room. Another Auror got up and retrieved another mirror, while the curly-haired Auror sat down, glowering.

"What do you see?" the Auror - Proudfoot - said, holding up what was a significantly smaller mirror; this one was only about as long as the length of Tonks' forearm to the tips of her fingers. This one had _ees ottna wu oye caf ehtu oy wohsi _etched into its equally elaborate frame.

Tonks glanced into the glassy surface. "Me?" she said.

"Is that a statement or a question?" he asked.

"Statement," she said, with a little more confidence.

"There's nothing different about you? You don't look older or younger, or have different coloured hair or eyes?" he asked shrewdly.

"No," she said. "I look like I do now."

"You're being completely truthful?"

"Of course!" she said, scandalised. "Maybe if you'd tell me what I'm supposed to be seeing-"

"Are you an Occlumens?" one wizard in Healer's robes asked suddenly.

"No." Tonks flushed. "I tried to learn when I was fourteen but I didn't have the patience-"

"Miss Tonks," said a bright eyed witch as Proudfoot sat down, "these mirrors are from a set of seven magical mirrors, made by a very powerful wizard named Narcissus. The mirror Auror Taure showed you is charmed to reveal one's Animagus form. The one Auror Proudfoot had is designed to instil confidence by presenting your face as you wish it looked." _If wonder if that's what inspired Snow White_, she thought absently. "If you're not seeing anything, then it suggests you're perfectly happy with your current appearance - which defies human nature - and that you have no potential Animagus form. For a student as talented with Transfiguration as you seem to be-"

"_Oh!_" Tonks said loudly. "I think I know why it's not working." Twenty three - Tonks did a quick head-count - pairs of eyes latched onto her. "I'm a Metapmorphmagus."

One wizard - she would have bet her Comet Two-Sixty that he'd been a Ravenclaw - leaned forward in his seat and watched her intently, beaming. "Can you show us? Please?" Tonks scrunched up her face and turned her hair jet black and then had it go orange and back to the blond it had been.

"Impressive," Moody said, "but I wasn't aware we were testing her ability to disguise herself." Tonks flushed and clamped down on the instincts that were trying to turn her hair pink with embarrassment.

The other Aurors looked chastised. "Well," the witch with the eye-patch said, looking flustered, "that certainly explains it. Yes. We'll just- Yes- Savage?"

"Are you able to perform a Patronus Charm?" an Auror with scar running from his left temple to his right cheek asked.

"I can get a fairly pathetic shield up," she said, grimacing. "Nothing that would hold off a Dementor or Lethifold, I don't think."

"What happy memory do you use?"

_Well that's a little personal_, she thought, slightly affronted. "The day I got my Hogwarts letter."

One of the Aurors scribbled that down. "Why? Don't you like it at home?"

Tonks blinked. "No, I love it at home," she said earnestly.

"Then why were you so happy to leave?"

"I was happy to be learning magic," she said.

"Did you stay in contact with your parents while you were at school?"

"Of course! I wrote weekly, sometimes more depending on how things were."

"Any siblings?"

"No."

"Just you and your parents, then?"

"Yes." Questions were coming from all directions now and it was quite overwhelming.

"Who's your favourite?"

"Excuse me?"

"Your favourite parent? Your mother or you father?"

"Neither-"

"So you don't like them?"

"Let me finish," she said irritably. They watched expectantly. "I love them equally-"

"Rubbish-"

"It's not rubbish!"

"You must like one more than the other-"

"No, I don't!"

"If you had to kill one of them, which would it be?"

"_Excuse me?!_" No one said anything. "Why in Merlin's name would I want to do that?!"

"It's purely academic."

"Neither," she said, folding her arms.

"But say you had to-" one pressed.

"Why do I have to?" she demanded.

"Say they've done something awful-"

"Like what?"

"They've broken the law."

"Then they deserve a trial not death," she snapped. Moody watched her curiously.

"How much do you know about the war?" one wizard asked suddenly.

"Enough," she said, confused by the sudden topic change.

"You know what Death Eaters are?"

"Of course." Her aunts and uncles had been just that. And Sirius, her mother's cousin.

"Say your parents were Death Eaters then... which would you kill?"

"But they're not," Tonks said, rolling her eyes. Everyone waited for a response anyway. "The Death Eaters in the war all got trials." _All of them except Sirius. "_My parents would get the same."

"But if they couldn't," one said.

"You asked which I would kill," she told them. "I'm not inclined to kill either unless you can give me an adequate reason."

"Say you're made an Auror," one man with a long ponytail said, "and your Head of Department instructs you to kill one of them. Which would it be?"

"If I'm likely to get those sorts of instructions then I don't know that working as an Auror is something I'm terribly keen on anymore," she said irritably.

Quite a few of them nodded. Moody was actually smirking. "Purely academic," he reminded her. "But say you were given the order-"

"I wouldn't do it."

"You'd defy an order?" he asked gruffly.

"If a life was at stake," she said flatly.

"Insubordination is not a quality we look for," he told her.

"I shouldn't think the desire to kill is one either," she snapped.

"Watch it," a witch at the back warned her.

Tonks rolled her eyes. "Any more questions?"

"You've been given a wand," one of them said shrewdly, "and it's only capable of performing one of the three Unforgivables."

"Right," she said edgily. _Merlin's beard, they're a morbid lot, aren't they?_

"Facing you, is an enemy-"

"Not my parents?" she asked sarcastically.

"No," the witch with the eye-patch said, stifling a laugh. "Just an enemy. He or she - it doesn't matter which - has a wand too. Both of you are in a sealed room. You cannot Floo in or out, or Apparate, and your wand - rather obviously - will not allow you to create a Portkey. In order to escape, you must subdue your opponent. How do you do it?"

"My wand will only perform Unforgivables?" Tonks asked, wrinkling her nose.

"That is correct."

"I'd subdue them in some other way," she said. "Punch them, perhaps."

"That's assault."

"It's not preferable," she told them, "but it's a nicer alternative than using one of those awful curses."

"You're an Auror, out on a mission when your partner is rendered unconscious. They won't respond to any spells and there is no one in the vicinity to help you. Without immediate help, your partner will die, but if you leave, the mission is compromised and the target will escape. What do you do?"

"Take my partner back," she said.

"Why?"

"Because if a fellow Auror dies, then everyone in the department will be affected by their death in some way and won't be performing at their best. Also, it takes three years to train the replacement, while it almost certainly shouldn't take three years to track down the person - target - again."

Tonks waited apprehensively for one of them to disagree with her, but Taure - the one who'd held up the first mirror - only said, "You're approached by a known criminal while you're off-duty. They want to trade legal immunity for information on another target. What do you do?"

"Have them surrender their wand," she said. "If they genuinely want to help then they won't need it. From there I'd take them somewhere safe - maybe the Ministry holding cells. If I was familiar with the case I'd question them myself. If not, I'd find someone better suited to the role."

"Do you have a criminal record?"

"Do detentions count?" she asked, suddenly worried.

Several people laughed. "No. Your parents are Andromeda Black Tonks and Theodore Tonks, is that correct?"

"Yes."

"Do either of them have a criminal record?"

"Not that I know of," she said honestly.

"Does anyone in your family have a criminal record?"

Tonks closed her eyes briefly. "Yes," she said.

"Who?"

They didn't look surprised, she noticed. _So they know_, she thought glumly. _They just want me to say it._ "My aunt, Bellatrix Lestrange. Her husband, Rodolphus Lestrange. Mum's cousin, Sirius Black."

"They're the only ones?"

"The charges to the Malfoys never stuck," she said, shrugging.

Moody smiled wryly. "Have you had recent contact with any of your family?"

"I've never met the Lestranges," she said, "and I haven't seen Sirius Black since I was ten. I bumped into the Malfoys in Diagon Alley a while back, though."

"Say the first thing that comes to mind. Muggle."

"Grandparents."

"Witch."

"Wizard."

"Hogwarts."

"School."

"Broom."

"Quidditch," Tonks said.

"Snitch."

"Seeker."

"Seeker."

"Charlie."

"Azkaban."

"Dementor."

* * *

"McKinnon," Mad-Eye called.

Marlene made her way over to the curtains, relieved. The boy who'd been trying and failing to make small talk with her slumped but she ignored him. Mad-Eye gave her a curious look and allowed her to step through. Inside were twenty three Aurors, most of whom she knew by sight if not name. She dropped into the seat in the centre of the area and crossed her ankles.

"Wand identification," a wizard said. She passed him the parchment she'd been given at the security desk. "Fir and dragon-heartstring. Fourteen inches. You've had it for seventeen years?"

"I have."

"How did you know the wand chose you?"

"Pink and gold came out of the end."

"In what form?"

"Ribbons."

"You received six N.E.W.T.s, yes?"

"Yes," she said.

"O's in Defence Against the Dark Arts, Charms and Potions, E's in Transfiguration, Herbology and Muggle Studies, is that correct?"

"It is."

Augustus Taure - Marlene had dated him when she was in fourth year and he was in third - stood and fetched a large mirror from behind his chair. Marlene frowned, trying to read the words _tidn ih ebla mina ehtt ube cafru oyt on wohsi_ but settled for remembering them. She could look them up later.

"What do you see?" he asked.

Marlene frowned. It wasn't her own reflection in the mirror. It was enormous, staring down its muzzle at her with gleaming tawny eyes. It had a sandy brown coat - perhaps a little darker than was normal and long legs that ended with deadly looking paws. "A- a lion. Lioness."

Several of the Aurors muttered amongst themselves but when Marlene chanced a look at Mad-Eye, he was smiling. He waved a hand at another Auror - Marlene recognised Proudfoot and had a vague recollection of Sirius complaining about his name, saying it was too close to his Marauder nickname - who brought another, smaller mirror forward.

"What do you see?" Proudfoot said. Again, she had no luck with the words in the frame but memorised them, in the hope of researching them later.

"Myself," she said, squinting at the mirror. "But I'm different. Younger." Her hair was shorter, like it had been back in her Order days, and neater, and her eyes were brighter. Her skin wasn't as pale - she'd still been playing a bit of Quidditch in those days - and the lines around her eyes and the corners of her mouth that she'd begun to notice in the last year, were non-existent.

Was she imagining it, or had Mad-Eye just given her a pitying look? Now, more than ever she was interested in finding out what the mirror actually did.

"Are you able to perform a Patronus Charm?" Savage asked. Marlene blinked; he had a new and rather ropy looking scar on his face that he certainly hadn't had when she'd last seen him. Admittedly, that was at a Ministry function nine years ago - Sirius had forced her to attend - so it was probably reasonable to assume he'd changed.

"I haven't tried for years," she said honestly.

"Do you remember what form it was?"

"It used to be a dog," she said. She'd always associated that with Sirius, for some reason, likely because his Patronus had been a dog too. "I think it's probably changed by now, though."

"Can you show us?" Savage asked.

Marlene hunted for a happy memory and was unsurprised to find there weren't many of them. "_Expecto Patronum_," she murmured, giving her wand a flick. Some silvery mist floated out of the end of her wand but not much else happened. She focused on her memory harder but it made little impact. The Aurors were glancing amongst themselves. _This is just embarrassing_, she thought, flushing slightly.

"No matter, Ms McKinnon-"

_No matter?_ she thought crossly. _I don't think so. _"_Expecto Patronum_," she snapped. The very same lioness she'd just seen in the mirror barrelled out and roared - soundlessly - before it flickered and vanished.

"Very good," a witch with an eye-patch said. Marlene hadn't seen her before, but she'd probably recognise the name when she heard it; she looked only a few years older than Marlene herself and so had probably trained with James and Sirius. Marlene chanced another look at Mad-Eye and his expression was definitely pitying. She turned her back on him and re-folded her legs. "What was the memory?"

"The day my little brother was born," she said.

"You remember it?"

"I was eight."

"Do you have any other siblings?"

"Yes." _But you'd be better off using past-tense._

"Who?"

"An older brother."

"Who's your favourite?"

"I loved them equally."

"Loved?"

"They're dead," she said flatly.

"Parents?" Marlene nodded stiffly and stared at her hands. "Are you glad?"

Her head snapped up. "Pardon?"

"Are you glad they're dead?"

"No," she snapped.

"You miss them, then."

"Obviously."

"Do you have a husband?" Marlene shook her head. "Partner?"

"Interested are you, Glade?" she asked coolly.

Glade flushed. They'd never dated but that wasn't for lack of trying on his part. He'd pestered her all through seventh year and she had received a rather humbling insight into what Lily's first six years of Hogwarts had been like. "Children?"

"No."

"Anyone?" Mad-Eye asked.

Marlene's jaw clenched. "A few friends," she said curtly.

"Who?"

"Alice and Frank. Mary. Neville."

"Which of them-"

"You've been given a wand," Mad-Eye interrupted loudly. The others looked at him, surprised. "It's only capable of performing one of the three Unforgivables."

"Is that even possible? A wand can't be limited to three spells."

"This one is. Facing you, is an enemy. He or she - it doesn't matter which - has a wand too. Both of you are in a sealed room. You cannot Floo in or out, or Apparate, and your wand - rather obviously - will not allow you to create a Portkey. In order to escape, you must subdue your opponent. How do you do it?"

"Wandless magic."

"You can do wandless magic?"

"No," Marlene said.

"You can't use something you don't have," Proudfoot said.

"I don't have a wand limited to using the Unforgivables," she said.

"It's hypothetical-"

"So's my ability to use wandless magic."

"You're an Auror, out on a mission when your partner is rendered unconscious. They won't respond to any spells and there is no one in the vicinity to help you. Without immediate help, your partner will die, but if you leave, the mission is compromised and the target will escape. What do you do?"

"Create a Portkey to send my partner to St Mungo's," she said. "I'd send a message back to whoever's in charge of the raid or mission or whatever you'd like to call it, letting them know what's happened and requesting back-up. I'd then engage the target."

"That's risky."

"The only life I'd be risking is my own," she replied.

"You're approached by a known criminal while you're off-duty. They want to trade legal immunity for information on another target. What do you do?"

"Take their wand and bring them back to the Ministry for questioning."

"Do you have a criminal record?"

"No."

"Where are those papers?" the witch with the eye-patch said fussily. "Madam Bones said she'd send them-"

"Your parents were Patricia Macmillan McKinnon and Curtis McKinnon, is that correct?" Mad-Eye asked, before she could find them.

"Yes."

"Do either of them have a criminal record?" the witch with the eye-patch asked, giving Mad-Eye a suspicious look as she stopped searching.

"No."

"Does anyone in your family have a criminal record?"

"What family?" she asked.

"When was the last time you saw Sirius Black?" Mad-Eye asked.

_I should have known this would come up as soon as I saw you_, she thought, glowering at Mad-Eye. "This morning," she said in her frostiest tone yet. "He was in the paper."

Thankfully none of them pushed it.

"Say the first thing that comes to mind. Muggle."

"Harold and Heather," she said with a sad twist of her mouth.

"Witch."

"Magic."

"Hogwarts."

"Dumbledore."

"Broom."

"Nimbus."

"Snitch."

"James."

"Seeker."

"Davey."

"Azkaban."

"Sirius." Several of the Aurors exchanged looks. Marlene could feel Mad-Eye's eyes - both of them - on her back.

"Gryffindor."

"Lion."

"Green."

"Lily." Mad-Eye glanced at her and then away.

"Charms."

"Flitwick."

"Dark Arts."

"Voldemort." Quite a few of the Aurors made startled noises and the wizard who'd asked about her wand fell off his seat.

Savage consulted the parchment in front of him, obviously put off by her last answer and chose a safe word. "Chocolate Frog."

"Card," she said dully.


	20. Puddifoot's And Post-Boxes

Tonks waited nervously; it was the end of her second day as an Auror trainee and they'd be finding out who'd made it past the preliminary testing.

"This is so exciting," Tonks said, growing slightly so that she could see over the other trainees' heads. She'd passed everything in her practical with ease - she'd spent the last two months studying for them - and had been reassured by the character testing after speaking with the other trainees.

They were designed, she'd heard someone saying, to put the trainee on the spot - thus the sudden changes in topic - put them under pressure - thus the large audience - and to trigger an emotional response - thus the personal and often frustrating questions.

"I think I'm going to be sick," Florence said. Tonks noted with concern that she was looking rather green.

"At least you managed to keep your Shield Charm up," Ben said gloomily. His Shield Charm had worn off ten seconds before it was supposed to.

"McKinnon!" McKinnon - she hadn't told anyone her first name and no one remembered it - slipped out of the crowd and off to the side, where Moody was waiting. Tonks shuffled back a few steps, eager to learn more about the older woman.

"Mad-Eye," she heard McKinnon say back. None of the trainees knew a thing about her because she'd kept to herself for the last two days, yet everywhere she went, she had Moody's constant attention. Tonks was fairly certain he'd choose her to train.

"How've you found it?"

"Fine."

"Is it hard?"

"Yes," McKinnon said, sounding surprisingly emotional, though Tonks couldn't for the life of her work out why. "I just- I look at _Plants and Poisons_ and I can't help but think of- of-" She took a deep breath. "I remember hearing all the stories of the Program and now I'm the one here, when I shouldn't be. It should be them." McKinnon sounded almost hysterical. Moody looked impassive. "Does-does it get easier?"

"Not really," Moody said with a loud sigh. "You just get better at coping."

"... right, Nymphadora?" Tonks whipped around.

"Don't call me that," she muttered. "It's Tonks."

"Were you even listening?" Ben asked.

"Shh," she said, turning back to look at McKinnon and Moody.

"... you already. There's not much more _I_ can impart on you-"

"It's all right," McKinnon said. "It'd probably be showing favouritism anyway." Moody grunted and then lowered his voice, saying something about Hit Witches. "No," McKinnon said. "Definitely an Auror, now."

"Knew you were too sensible for the Hit Team," he muttered. He clapped her on the shoulder and limped off. McKinnon watched him, smiling slightly and then spotted Tonks, who flushed and looked away, daring only to watch her out of the corner of her eye. McKinnon's face became impassive - Tonks wondered if she was perhaps an Occlumens to have that much self-control - and she joined the crowd of trainees, promptly ignoring Yaxley's attempts to find out what Moody had wanted.

While they waited, three trainees were singled out by Aurors and asked to leave. Tonks didn't know any of them - they'd obviously been in the other group - but she felt a little sorry for them nonetheless. Then, Aurors started calling names.

Yaxley was partnered with an Auror named Louisson - she'd looked pleased with that - Lori Patel and Mary Wright joined with the witch with the eye-patch - McDuff was her name - Ben was sent over to an intimidating looking Auror named Shacklebolt, Florence was paired with Auror Finch who was also Melvin Clarke's mentor, McKinnon was paired with Robards, Trixia Dale and Wesley Hill were given to Auror Blackburn and Michael Brown was assigned to someone called Hemsley.

More and more of the other trainees were paired off - some had an Auror to themselves, others were paired - and Tonks was growing increasingly nervous when finally-

"Nymphadora Tonks," a growling voice called. Tonks could hardly believe her ears. She was too stunned to even bother telling Moody not to call her Nymphadora. "Come on, Nymphadora, I don't have all day!" he barked.

"Sorry," she said, hurrying over. She stumbled but thankfully didn't fall and extended her hand the moment she reached him. "It's a pleasure to be working with you, sir-"

"None of this sir, nonsense," he growled, shaking her hand surprisingly gently. "Find something else to call me."

"Okay-" she said hesitantly.

"Good. Training starts tomorrow. Be at my house at four."

"In the afternoon?" she asked, stymied.

"In the morning. We'll be visiting a friend of mine." Moody didn't strike her as the type to have many friends but she didn't say anything. "Four," he said and then limped away.

It was only after he'd left that it occurred to her that she had no idea where his house was.

"Oh, Merlin," she muttered. She glanced around but most of the other Aurors had either left or were busy with their trainees. _He's going to kill me! How do I even contact him? Surely someone in the Ministry would know but who should I as-_ "Sorry!" she said, bouncing off someone.

"It's all right," McKinnon said, helping her up.

"Sorry. I'm dead clums- You were talking to Auror Moody before, weren't you?" she asked, her eyes lighting up. McKinnon frowned at her.

"Why?"

"He's my mentor. I'm Tonks. You're a... friend of his, aren't you?"

"I suppose."

"Do you know where he lives?"

McKinnon blinked. "Why?"

"He told me to meet him there tomorrow morning but he didn't say where and I thought, maybe since you knew him-"

"I used to know where to find him," she said. "That was years ago, though."

"Where?" Tonks asked hopefully. McKinnon shook her head.

"If he's still in the same house, I'm a flobberworm."

"Oh," Tonks said, disappointed.

"Your hair's just gone blue," McKinnon told her. Amazingly, she looked close to smiling.

"It does that," Tonks said, starting to panic again; she could see her fringe turning a sickly greenish-orange colour. "Thanks for trying-"

"Talk to Dumbledore," McKinnon said unexpectedly. "If anyone knows where he is, it's him."

"Thank you," Tonks said, throwing her arms around the other woman. "Thank you, thank you, thank you-"

"It's yellow," McKinnon said, picking at a strand of her hair. "How in Merlin's name do you do that?"

"I'm a Metamorphmagus," Tonks said, still beaming.

"What did you say your name was?" McKinnon asked again, eyes wide.

"Tonks."

McKinnon blinked. "Ted and Andy's daughter?"

"How did you know?" Tonks asked.

"I babysat once," she said, flushing. Tonks cast her mind back, trying to remember but couldn't; she remembered a lot of people coming and going from her parents' house during the War. She remembered Remus Lupin and James Potter well because they, other than Sirius, had been the most frequent visitors. She also had a faint recollection of a red-haired woman and of a rather pudgy man, but not of McKinnon. "Sorry, that's probably not exactly what you want to hear-"

_I'll bet she knew Sirius Black, then, and probably Remus Lupin too, _Tonks thought. She didn't say anything, though - Remus Lupin hadn't minded, but he'd been nothing but friendly from the outset - not when McKinnon, who hadn't talked to anyone but Moody for two days, finally seemed to be relaxing a little. Tonks forced a laugh. "It doesn't bother me. I'd better go if I'm going to see Dumbledore in time, though..." she said a bit awkwardly.

McKinnon looked faintly relieved. "I suppose I'll see you around, then," she said. "It was nice to meet you again."

"You too," Tonks said. She waved goodbye to Florence and Ben and hurried up the stairs and out through the broom cupboard entrance. She Flooed home from the atrium, changed hurriedly - she had to meet Keith in Hogsmeade at six - and wrote a quick note to remind Mum and Dad that she wouldn't be home for dinner; she'd told them but Mum had a tendency to forget and would worry. She wasted five minutes searching for her money bag only to find it under her sleeping cat.

"You knew I'd need it tonight, didn't you, you evil little-" Canis hissed and took a sleepy swipe at her ankle.

She Apparated to Hogsmeade and paid a post owl to carry a brief letter to Dumbledore warning him of her visit and headed up the dark road to the castle. She was pleasantly surprised to find Dumbledore waiting for her at the gates.

"Wotcher, Professor. I'm sorry to come on such short notice," she said when she saw him.

"Not a problem," Dumbledore said, beaming. "Shall we head to my office?"

"It won't take long. It's just one question," she said. Dumbledore inclined his head. "Where does Auror Moody live? I was told you'd probably know-"

"You're quite right," Dumbledore said with a chuckle. "Might I ask why you need to know?"

"Oh, right, sorry. He's my mentor-"

"Congratulations, my dear!" Dumbledore said, beaming.

"Thank you," Tonks said, smiling back.

"I'll be sure to notify Pomona."

"I owled her to say I made it in, but not that I've passed the preliminary testing," Tonks said. "If you could pass that along, that'd be wonderful."

"Consider it done. Now, as for Alastor: are you familiar with Brighton?"

"Yes," Tonks said. Dad had done a news story there the summer before last and she'd got to go with him.

"Just off Albion Hill is a street named Phoenix Rise. You will find Alastor there."

"How do I know which house is his?"

"There will be an abundance of dustbins out the front," Dumbledore said with an odd expression. "A simple Body-Bind ought to do it."

"Brilliant," Tonks said happily; she wasn't sure what he meant about Body-Binds but then, Dumbledore had always been a bit strange. "Thank you so much, sir," Tonks said happily.

"Not a problem, not a problem," Dumbledore said kindly. "Are you certain I cannot tempt you to stay for dinner?"

"No, I'm having dinner with a friend, actually," she said apologetically. "Thank you again, sir."

"I'll pass your message onto Pomona. Enjoy dinner." With that, Dumbledore swept back inside the school gates, shut them with a tap of his wand and departed with a wave. Tonks, who couldn't be bothered walking all the way back to Hogsmeade, Disapparated.

She materialised in front of The Three Broomsticks with a quiet pop and glanced around. Loud chatter was coming from inside and lamp light was shining merrily through the windows but she couldn't see Keith anywhere. A glance at her watch told her it was just after six. He arrived about a minute later, just at Tonks was beginning to get nervous.

"Hi!" she said, waving.

"Hey," he said, hugging her. "You look different."

"I always look different," she said cheerfully.

"True."

"So, how was your day?"

"Boring. What about yours?"

"Brilliant," she said, grinning. "I made it in, and you'll never guess who my mentor is!"

"Who?"

"Mad-Eye Moody!" she said happily. "I've just spent the afternoon trying to find out where he lives; I've got to be there at four o'clock tomorrow morning."

"That's awful!" Keith said.

Tonks shrugged. "Aurors could be called in at any time, so I may as well get used to it."

He gave her a dubious look. "If you say so. Where do you want to eat? I was thinking Madam Puddifoot's."

"That pink place, with the fairies?" she asked.

"Cherubs, actually."

"Oh." Until this point, she hadn't quite been sure whether she and Keith were dating; they'd gone out several times since school ended, but she hadn't been sure whether it was as friends or as something else, as the flower he'd given her yesterday seemed to indicate. This, she was fairly sure, confirmed it. She'd never been to Madam Puddifoot's and while Charlie had told her a number of horror stories - leaving her with absolutely no desire to go anywhere near the place - Keith seemed eager and she couldn't bring herself to say no. "Yeah, I suppose-"

"Great." They chatted on the way down the road; Keith was still working for his local Quidditch team and was having particular trouble with the under twelves. "After you," Keith said, pulling the door open when they arrived.

"Thanks," Tonks said, stumbling into the room. It was warm inside, at least, though she wasn't a fan of the decoration; everything was covered in pink or a deep reddish-purple and was either frilly, lacy, or heart-patterned. Candles burned on each of the tables, emitting heart-shaped puffs of smoke that smelled suspiciously like flowers. _Charlie was right, _she thought darkly, forcing a smile in Keith's direction. Cherubs fluttered over to lead them to an empty table and then a stout woman wearing glittery red robes bustled over with menus.

She scanned the menu and picked a dish with an Italian name; it seemed like the least nauseating item, even if it did have heart-shaped pasta. Keith ordered a chicken-something and they both ordered some sort of strawberry drink and then Puddifoot tottered off. "Isn't it great?" Keith said happily, glancing around the room.

"It's certainly not like anywhere I've ever been," she said. "I take it you've been here before?"

"Once in fifth year with Dawn," he said. "She really seemed to like it." Tonks opened her mouth to reply and received a face full of confetti for her trouble. Keith laughed as Tonks spat into her napkin and glowered at the cherub. "So what sort of things did you have to do in the tests?"

Tonks happily filled him in, talking excitedly about the physical tests – she'd splinched a chunk of her hair and hastily regrown it before her assessor had noticed - as well as the odd questions they'd asked and the mirrors.

"I think they're what inspired Snow White," she said thoughtfully.

"Pardon?" Keith asked.

"Snow White," Tonks said. "It's a muggle fairytale, and there's this mirror-"

"I've got no idea what you're talking about," he said apologetically.

"That's all right," she said. "I'll lend you my old muggle fairytale book-"

"I'm not reading muggle fairytales," he said, laughing. "I'll just take your word for it."

"All right," she said, little put-out.

"Did I tell you about the under twelves team?"

"Yes," she said, but he told her again anyway. Their food and drinks came not long after; the drinks were so sweet she couldn't manage more than a mouthful but the pasta was good, though she was a little disconcerted by the pale pink sauce.

They talked about Quidditch while they ate - Tonks was an avid Harpies fan, while Keith preferred the Tornados - and endured the cherubs; Tonks was fairly sure she'd accidentally consumed several mouthfuls of confetti by the time she'd finished her meal, and her drink had a layer of soggy paper floating on top. Finally, she got sick of the little golden creature and Stunned it.

"What are you doing?" Keith demanded, looking horrified.

"I'll let it out before we leave," she said, stuffing the cherub in the sugar pot. He gave her a doubtful look but didn't say anything else on the matter.

Sometime later, Madam Puddifoot brought out coffee and bowls of strawberry ice-cream, and then Tonks released the thoroughly disgruntled cherub and stood, fishing around in her bag for a galleon.

"Nymph- sorry, Tonks - why are you paying?"

"For dinner," she said, setting a galleon down on the table.

He picked it up and pressed it back into her hand. "I'm paying."

"Don't be thick," she said. "I'm paying for what I ate."

"But I want to," he said, looking injured.

"Sorry, what?" she asked, bemused. He took the opportunity to throw his two galleons down on the table and steer her to the door.

"A gentleman always pays for the lady," he said as she wrapped her scarf around her neck.

Tonks snorted. "I'm hardly a lady, Keith."

"I'm being polite," he insisted. She rolled her eyes and tucked her galleon into a spare pocket.

"Thank you, then," she sighed. "But next time, I'm paying." He laughed as if she'd told an absolutely hilarious joke.

"What do you want to do now?" he asked.

She checked her watch. "I think I should go home, actually."

"What?" he asked, his face falling. "Why?"

"Well it's ten now," she said reasonably, "and I have to be at Moody's by four."

"Can't you stay for another hour?"

"Not if I want to sleep tonight," she said, stifling a yawn. "And if I don't, I'll be horrendous tomorrow, which won't exactly endear me to Moody."

"All right, then," he said grudgingly. "I'll see you tomorrow, then?"

Her eyebrows climbed. "Tomorrow?"

"You're not doing anything, are you?"

"Well, no," she admitted. "I suppose that'll work. What would you like to do?"

"I know this place in Diagon Alley," he said brightly. "Do you want to meet in the Leaky Cauldron at six?"

Tonks checked her watch again and nodded - she really needed to go if she didn't want a repeat of the O.W.L. incident; she'd been so grumpy she'd hexed no less than seven of her classmates in a day and received three detentions, each from a different teacher.

"Six is fine," she said. "It was nice to see you again tonight."

"I'm already looking forward to tomorrow," he said. She hugged him goodbye.

"See you then." She Disapparated straight to her bedroom.

"Nymphadora!" Mum called.

"Don't call me Nymphadora!" she shouted back.

"What have I told you about Apparating into the house?!"

"Not to do it," she said wearily, pulling open her bedroom door to reveal a cross-looking Mum. "Sorry."

"Don't make me tell you again." Tonks nodded absently but was fairly sure this wouldn't be the last time it happened. "How'd everything go?" Mum asked.

"I made it!" she said, beaming. Mum wrapped her in a tight hug. "And I've been partnered with Moody-"

"Mad-Eye?" Mum asked, looking thoughtful. "He trained S- someone I used to know." Tonks noticed the slip but didn't say anything. "I've heard he's a bit..." Mum floundered, looking for a word. "Odd," she said finally, looking pleased with herself.

"He seemed all right," Tonks said, shrugging.

"Good, good," Mum said distractedly. "And how'd your date go with that boy - Kevin? When do I get to meet him?"

"Keith," Tonks said. "And it wasn't a date." _Well it was, _she amended, _but Mum doesn't need to know that. _ She deliberately left Mum's last query unanswered.

"Of course not, love," Mum said, smiling. "I'll see you in the morning, then."

"Actually, you won't," Tonks said apologetically. "Moody said to be at his house at four."

"It's not enough that my husband's out and about at all hours with his job," Mum said, throwing her hands up, "but now you are too."

"Sorry," Tonks said sheepishly.

Mum harrumphed. "I suppose we'll see you at dinner then, Nymphadora."

"Don't call me that! And no, you won't."

"It's your name- What do you mean no?"

"It's a stupid name." Mum folded her arms, eyes flashing.

"It's a beautiful name."

"It's a pureblood name. You did it to spite your horrible family-"

"I did no such thing," Mum snapped. "I chose it because I liked it, Nymphadora, and for no reasons other than that."

"It's a stupid name," she muttered. "About dinner-"

"Yes," Mum said sternly. "About dinner?"

"I said I'd see Keith," Tonks said, waiting for the explosion.

"Oh," Mum said in a completely different tone to the one she'd been expecting. She almost would have preferred shouting to the sly smile that had settled on Mum's face. "All right, then. But I want to meet him soon."

"'All right, then?'" she repeated incredulously. "That's it?"

"Contrary to what you seem to believe, Nymphadora-" Tonks ground her teeth. "-I don't actually want to clash with you about everthing."

"I know that," Tonks muttered. Mum wrapped an arm around her and gave her shoulders a squeeze. Tonks couldn't help the little smile that plastered itself onto her face and she wrapped an arm around Mum and squeezed back. "It is a stupid name, though." Mum took a deep breath in through her nose. "Admit it," Tonks said, rocking into her.

Mum stood and kissed her forehead. "Good night, Nymphadora."

"Just admit-"

"I thought I told you to clean these up," Mum said, pointing an accusing finger at the pile of old textbooks on the floor.

"I needed them for Auror trials," she said.

"Which are over, now."

"Well, yeah, now they are."

"I want them put away- In fact, this whole room could use a good clea-"

"Well, I'm exhausted, so I'm going to go to bed now. Good night." Mum shook her head and continued out of the room. "Love you," Tonks called after her.

"You too," Mum called back sounding... amused?

Tonks flopped back onto her bed, and then a horrible realisation crept over her; Mum had brought up her messy room to distract her from the name argument. And it had worked.

"Mum!" she cried, outraged.

"I said goodnight, Nymphadrora."

* * *

_This has to be it_, Tonks thought, glancing at the house with no less than four large dustbins lined up outside the front door. She checked her watch - five minutes until she was officially due - and found herself wishing she'd stayed in bed for those extra five minutes. She lit her wand and headed up the path, impressed with how neatly the grass was cut; she'd picked Moody to be fairly untidy.

A quiet rattle behind her drew Tonks' attention. She twisted, wand raised and to her bemusement found she was being followed by a muggle post-box, a post-box which had resided innocently on the footpath until now. It hopped after her, clunking noisily.

"What in Merlin's- Ah!" The post-box collided with her and knocked her to the ground. She glanced toward the house, wondering if Moody was behind it but the windows of the house were dark. The post-box was now doing its best to pin her to the path. She shuffled backwards and cast a hasty, "_Impedimenta!_" but the spell didn't seem to have any effect.

With no other alternative, she rolled out of the way as the post-box threw itself down on the ground and landed with a noisy bang. She got to her feet quickly and flicked her wand at it, trying to Banish it back to the street where it belonged, but it seemed resistant.

She gave up on physically trying to push it back across the yard when it tried to bite her; only her Metamorphmagus abilities saved her fingers by allowing them to shrink an inch. Irritated, she gave it a jab with her wand and transfigured it into a button. It fell to the ground with a quiet ringing sound and proceeded to hop toward her. She picked it up and while the button squirmed violently, it couldn't escape her fist. She then continued toward the house.

She lifted her hand to knock on the front door but it was pulled open before her hand touched the wood.

"You're late," Moody growled, stepping aside so she could come in. She checked her watch, which said she was only a few seconds late. She smothered her irritation.

"Sorry," she said, passing him the hopping button. "I was caught up." He limped out the front door and restored it to its usual form and place while she waited in the hallway.

"Not bad," he said when he came back. "Next time it won't be so easy."

"That was- that was a test?"

Moody smiled faintly and led her into the house. Tonks got the idea that he'd just moved in; there were boxes lining the walls of the already narrow hall and stacked into every available corner. They ended up in his sitting room; it was a small room with an air of being half-unpacked; there were only two couches and rickety coffee table and a bookshelf laden with more boxes than books.

"Sit," he said. She perched tentatively on the couch. "None of that. Put your feet up, or lie down." She stared at him. "While you're my trainee, you're to treat this house - or any house I'm living with - as your own. You can choose one of the guest rooms and use it when you want. You can use my laundry room and my kitchen but if you eat something, you replace it."

She nodded, stunned. "You'd trust me?" Everything she'd ever heard about Moody suggested he was an incredibly private, incredibly paranoid man.

"We'll be working together for the next three years," he said bluntly. She noticed he hadn't said yes. "I don't want any of this tip-toeing around each other. You have a question, ask it. You want to say something, say it. Am I clear?"

"Yes," she said, remembering to leave off the 'sir' at the last moment. She had a feeling, if Mad-Eye really was as forward as he was acting, that they'd get along just fine.

He left the room and came back carrying two cardboard boxes. The first was labelled _Baby Photos_ and the second _Dog Food/Toys_. She wondered if she was supposed to help him unpack.

"Here." He shoved the _Baby Photos_ box into her hands.

"I-Thank you?"

"Open it." She did. Inside was - as the box's label suggested - a collection of photo albums, frames and piles of photographs of babies.

"Who are they of?" she asked.

"No idea," he said. She blinked confused. _Mum was right. He's odd. _"Pass the photo album."

She picked it up and the entire layer of frames, albums and photographs lifted with it. It was all stuck together, like some sort of bizarre sculpture. Underneath it, however, was a collection of files - Ministry files if the stamps were to be believed - and articles cut from various newspapers and magazines. Fascinated, she set the album-sculpture aside and with a half-glance at Moody who didn't seem to mind, had a quick look at the files.

"They're all about Harry Potter and Sirius Black," she said after a moment.

"They are," he said gruffly. "On days with a 'T' in them, that's what you'll be doing. So that's Tuesday, Thursday and-"

"Saturday," she said. "Got it."

"I like it when I get smart ones," he said, sounding almost pleased. "There's a search, currently run by Lucius Malfoy. You're familiar with it?"

"Of course." She'd been following the Potter-Black search for months.

"You're joining. You do everything he tells you to," Moody said. "And then you report back to me. If anything strange is happening, I want to know about it. If you hear anything about Potter or Black, I want to know the second he does. If they're caught, I want to know where and when, and if you catch them, you bring them straight to me."

"So I'm like a spy?" Tonks said, her eyebrows raising.

"I like it when I get smart ones," he said again and then leaned towards her. "I don't trust Malfoy further than I can throw him, and at my age, that's not far."

Tonks nodded eagerly. "If I'm a spy, just how secret is this? Do I have to use a fake name, or-"

"You'll present yourself as Theodora Tock. It's close enough that you'll respond to it. As for secrets, this is between us. Anyone asks, you've got no part in the search. On Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays I've got you doing my laundry, or unpacking the boxes in my house."

"But the Ministry-"

"Lucius Malfoy's got the entire Ministry in his pocket, right alongside his lacy handkerchief and I don't like it," Moody barked. "Until I decide he's got no ulterior motive, I need people to keep an eye on him, and this is a good way for you to get experience in the field. Do you think you can handle it?" Tonks nodded vigorously.

"Fridays are entirely dedicated to your training. We'll be spending it in the place we've been for the last few days." She noticed he hadn't given a location, and wondered if he thought anyone was actually listening. Moody pushed the _Dog Food/Toys_ box toward her.

Tonks packed up the _Baby Photos_ box properly - Moody nodded his approval - before reaching for the other box. This one had a stack of tinned food, an old collar, and a fluffy duck toy that squeaked when she touched it. She grabbed the duck and again, the whole layer lifted out to reveal files. A brief look through told her it was about werewolves, and, more specifically, Fenrir Greyback.

"This is my current case," he said, "and the reason _I _can't watch Malfoy as closely as I'd like. On days with an 'N' in them, you'll be with me working on this, or with the other trainees, learning what you'll need to make it in this job."

"What are we doing today?" she asked.

"What is today?" Moody asked, sounding irritated.

"Thursday-"

"It's a day with a 'T'."

"So I'm doing Potter-Black things?" she asked. "Already?"

"No time like the present. I'll give you half an hour to establish a look for Tock and a few personality quirks and then we'll go get you a place in your uncle's search."

Half an hour later, Tonks emerged from the small bathroom Moody had directed her to. She peered around the corners into the hallway; Moody had jumped out at her, shouting "Constant vigilance!" twice while she was getting ready and she was feeling a bit twitchy.

Moody, however, was waiting in the sitting room and nodded in approval when she entered. She was several inches taller than she usually chose to be, with brown eyes and reddish brown hair. Her nose was straight and not overly long, her face was neither thin or round, she was neither chubby or thin and she was altogether very plain.

She'd also changed clothes; Moody had several wardrobes full of every size and style of clothing – muggle or wizarding, and for both genders – 'just in case'. She'd ignored to obvious paranoia and gone along with it, picking out a set of navy robes.

"Name?" Moody said.

"Theodora Tock," she said in a voice slightly deeper than her own.

"Blood status?"

"Hal- no, wait- Muggleborn."

"Favourite colour?"

"Would anyone really ask that, do you think?" Tonks asked in her normal voice.

"Be prepared for anything."

"Okay, erm... blue."

"Blue? Why blue?"

"Because... er... I went to Beauxbatons."

"Pouvez-vous parler français?" he growled.

"Is that French?" Tonks asked, making a face.

"At least you know that much," Moody sighed. "You can't get by without French at Beauxbatons, so stick with Hogwarts. Your favourite colour can be blue because you were in Ravenclaw."

"Fine."

"Play Quidditch?"

"No, I was too busy studying."

"A bit stereotypical but it'll do." He asked her several more questions - her parents' names, what subjects she took, how many N.E.W.T.s she received - and then seemed satisfied. "Just remember to stay in character." She nodded. "Time to go then." He ushered her through the house, out into the back garden and then offered her his arm. She took it tentatively. "Remember, constant vigilance. If we're attacked upon arrival, conjure a Shield Charm and get inside. If one of us is killed-"

"I thought you said we were visiting your friend?" Tonks said, alarmed.

"You can never be too careful," Moody said. He twisted on the spot, pulling her with him.

He landed easily but Tonks lost her footing and ended up on her back on the grass, staring at the dark, starry sky and the almost-full moon. They appeared to be at the edge of a forest, but looking closer she realised they were only a few yards away from a small cottage.

Neat bushes lined the outside walls and some sort of vine had climbed the pale stone exterior, though it had been cut away from the windows. Round white stones rested in the grass, forming a path from the forest - separated from the house only by a low picket fence - to the front door. The front door itself was sheltered by a small extension of the roof, supported by thin wooden beams.

"Are you sure they're expecting us?" she asked, glancing at the house. It certainly looked and sounded like its occupants were asleep. Moody ignored her and limped not toward the door, but the window. "What are you doing?" she asked as he flicked his wand. The window opened soundlessly. "There's a door-"

"Never do what you're expected to do," Moody whispered. He waved his wand several times, chanting under his breath and then snorted. "Mind the bushes." With surprising agility, he pulled himself through the window and landed almost silently on the other side. _I must be mad_, Tonks thought before climbing through after him.

"_Lumos,_" she whispered, once she was inside. There was a large, well-stocked bookshelf on her right, and a mantel laden with photographs on her left. Two couches, an armchair and a table rested in the middle of the room and a kitchen bench and dining table with four seats was on the far side of the room. It was very tidy.

"This way," Moody said, heading to the right, where there was an opening that seemed to lead to a hallway. His leg was almost silent on the wooden floor and while she made a bit of noise - she tripped over an umbrella stand by the door - they made it out of the main room without much trouble. "And put that light out."

"They are expecting us, aren't they?" she asked a little nervously, as Moody limped down the hall. Her question was answered when Moody pushed open a door and led her into a dark bedroom and a soft snore came from the bed.

_No, _she realised, wincing. _Moody's friend has no idea we're coming. _

The bed's occupant was a man - not the little old lady she'd half expected after seeing the neat house and garden - but he was so thoroughly cocooned in his blankets that she couldn't tell much more about him.

Moody walked around to the side of the bed, leant right over him and roared, "CONSTANT VIGILANCE!"

It scared Tonks, so she could only imagine how Moody's poor friend could be feeling; he awoke, starting so violently that he tumbled out of bed. He managed to grab his wand on the way down and fired a spell at Moody that missed by several inches and left a scorch mark on the ceiling.

"Fuck," he said weakly. Tonks thought he sounded vaguely familiar and wondered if he was another Auror. "Mad-Eye?"

"Do you have any idea how easy it was to get inside?!" Moody bellowed.

"Is something wrong?" the man said, yawning.

"Yes! You've got no protection or warding whatsoever! I could have killed you and you wouldn't even know!"

"Oh, well if that's all..." he said sleepily, climbing back into bed. Moody tore the covers off and he made a little noise of protest. "Bloody hell!" he said. "What?"

"Toast," Moody said.

"Toast?" the man asked, as if he'd never heard of such a thing.

_Yes, I definitely know him from somewhere_, Tonks though, squinting at him, but she really couldn't make much of him out.

"And scrambled eggs," Moody said. "Get moving."

"Sod off, Mad-Eye," he said, rolling into his pillows. Moody flicked his wand and the lamps in the room lit up. The man sat up, looking extremely dishevelled, and blinked owlishly. "Who are you?" he asked, frowning at Tonks. Tonks could only stare. It was Remus Lupin.

"Theodora Tock," she said, managing to stifle a cheerful 'Wotcher' at the last minute. Theodora didn't do that.

"Remus Lupin," he said, sighing. He glanced at Moody. "What's this about?"

"I'll tell you once I've eaten," Moody said.

"Toast and eggs, did you say?" Lupin asked, having obviously realised he wasn't going to get back to sleep any time soon. He rolled out of bed with a sigh and slipped out of the room in just his pyjama trousers. Moody snorted and limped after him. Tonks followed wordlessly, unable to believe what had just happened.

She and Moody seated themselves at Lupin's little dining table and watched as he turned on the stove. He walked back down the hallway a moment later.

"If he's gone back to bed-" Moody growled to himself, but never finished because Lupin came back wearing a thin t-shirt and gave Moody a look that made Tonks think he'd somehow heard him.

"Has something happened?" Lupin asked, waving his wand to send three glasses of orange juice over to the table.

"Just need a word with you about Malfoy's search."

"And that couldn't have waited until a more sociable hour?"

"I was hoping you'd be a good example to my trainee," Moody growled. "You, Potter and Pettigrew were always the most vigilant and I can't visit _them_ for obvious reasons." Lupin turned back to the stove.

"_Was_ I a good example?" he asked a moment later, scratching absently at a large scar on his arm.

"Yes, of what _not_ to do."

"Glad to be of service."

Lupin's eyes landed on Tonks. "Congratulations on making it into the Program," he said with a genuine, if sleepy, smile.

"Thank you," she said in Tock's voice.

"Mad-Eye's a good mentor. He taught me quite a bit."

"You'd never know it," Moody grumbled. Tonks hardly heard him but Lupin seemed to, and had a small, somewhat mischievous smile on his face when he turned around.

"I am curious, though," Lupin continued mildly.

"About?" Tonks asked.

"Do you have as much of an aversion to Theodora as you do to Nymphadora?"

"I'm sorry, what?" Tonks squeaked. Lupin gave her a knowing look. She glanced at Moody for help, but he didn't look at her; he had an odd expression - almost fond, yet irritated - on his face.

"I'd forgotten about that," Moody said, shooting a glare at Lupin, who seemed to be fighting a smile. Lupin turned back towards the stove and loaded a plate with eggs.

"Yes," he said, "well, constant vigilance, Mad-Eye."


	21. Old Grudges

"So the old codger's broken into my house, scared me awake at five-thirty in the morning on the day of a full moon and demanded- Stop laughing, Sirius, it's not funny! - breakfast!" Padfoot wasn't the only one laughing at poor Moony; Harry was doubled over his plate in stitches, his glasses perilously close to slipping off and landing in his mashed potato.

"It _is_ funny," Padfoot said, wiping tears of mirth out of his eyes. Harry thought it was nice to see him laughing again; he'd been oddly subdued lately and while Moony assured Harry it was just the Dementor's Draught, Harry wasn't convinced it was _only _that; Padfoot had looked thoughtful, not depressed, and had taken to sitting in the study on the ground floor, staring out the window.

"Shut up and drink your hot chocolate," Moony shot back. They both glowered at each other and then Padfoot's mouth twitched.

"All right," he said. "It's not funny at all." Harry snorted quietly; he thought it was one of the funniest things he'd ever heard. "What happened next?"

"Mad-Eye questioned me on every development in Malfoy's search for you two," Moony sighed, pushing his peas around his plate. "You remember Andy's daughter Nymphadora?"

"Of course," Padfoot said, rolling his eyes. "Andy _is_ my cousin, you know-"

"She's an Auror trainee-"

"What?!" Padfoot yelped. His fork dropped onto the table with a clatter. "But she's only ten-" He stopped talking and started counting fingers. "Oh, Merlin."

"She finished school in June," Moony said quietly. "Please drink your hot chocolate."

Padfoot shivered and drank; they'd discovered that the physically debilitating aspect of the Dementor's Draught wore off after a week and a bit with the right care - gallons of hot chocolate and lots of rest - but that the effects lingered, emphasising feelings like guilt, misery and nostalgia and hindered happy feelings. Even that, though, was only based on observation; Padfoot didn't talk about it.

"It's weird how time passes when you're in Azkaban," Padfoot said. He set his cup down and managed a weak smile.

"Yes," Moony agreed dryly, after a strained pause. "I imagine it came as a shock for you to get out and discover time hadn't stopped." Both Moony and Harry waited to see how Padfoot would respond to that. A shadow came over his face and he was quiet for a few moments before he forced a laugh.

"So," he said, with what Harry thought was a very fake smile, "what was Dora doing at your house?"

"She's joining Malfoy's search," Moony said.

"Mad-Eye's letting his trainee rub shoulders with _Malfoy_?" Padfoot asked, dropping his fork again. Moony smiled faintly.

"Neither of them said as much so this is pure speculation but I'd say Mad-Eye doesn't like that there's no Auror influence in the search." He paused to dunk a strip of beef into his gravy while Padfoot nodded thoughtfully. "They wanted me to put in a good word - say she's my nephew or something - but Malfoy's rather unhappy with me after everything I said at St Mungo's and my endorsement's probably reason enough for him to reject her... She's approaching him on her own tomorrow morning."

"Bet Mad-Eye was annoyed."

"Serves him right for breaking in," Moony said, stabbing a piece of beef with his fork. Harry and Padfoot looked at each other and then hastily back at their plates.

They finished dinner in relative silence - Moony's expression grew more and more pained and it was easy for Harry to remember that he would become a wolf in a few short hours – and Padfoot's grew uncannily serious, as if he was thinking about something of great importance. Harry poked at his potato.

"Is he all right?" Harry asked Padfoot as Moony vanished into the fireplace after dinner.

"He's always a bit off the day before," Padfoot assured him. "Another hot chocolate, thank you, Kreacher," he added. A steaming cup floated over almost instantly.

"Are you sure you should go?" Harry asked.

"Hmm?" Padfoot said, somewhat distantly.

"I asked if you're all right to go," Harry sighed.

"Oh," Padfoot said, coming back to the present. "Yeah, I'll be fine, kiddo." He grinned as if to prove his point.

"And I can't come?" Harry wheedled.

"No," Padfoot said in a no-nonsense tone. "Tonight's going to be tricky enough without a human there."

"So next time?"

"Nice try, kiddo," Padfoot said, ruffling his hair.

"Worth a try," Harry said, shrugging.

Padfoot shook his head, smiling. "Are you going to be all right? I haven't really left you alone before-"

"You left me alone after the cave," Harry said.

Padfoot made a face and gestured for Harry to follow him upstairs. "Yes, and you ended up in St Mungo's for a week."

"There aren't any Inferi around," Harry said as they started up the main staircase. "Those elf heads that used to hang here were scary enough but I never saw them attack anyone."

Padfoot laughed. "My Uncle Alphard said Kreacher's mother was a piece of work."

"Which one was she?" Harry asked as they passed the library.

"The one with the lopsided ears."

Harry laughed. "No, really."

"I am serious," Padfoot said laughing. "In every way."

Harry grimaced. "None of the elf heads had lopsided ears."

"Did so," Padfoot said, pushing the door to his bedroom open.

"Did not." Harry followed him in and flopped down on the end of his bed. Padfoot dug a rucksack out from under his desk and crossed to the dresser.

A change of clothes were carefully folded and arranged to Padfoot's liking and then he retrieved a spare pillow and a blanket from the cupboard in the corner - they'd had to find a different place to store their spare bedding after Kreacher moved into the linen cupboard on the landing. Padfoot folded the blanket as well as he could, shrank the pillow and then left the room to fetch his toothbrush.

Harry took Padfoot's mirror off of the bedside table and murmured, "James Potter." James' smiling face appeared. "Hi," Harry said. James waved at him and said something to someone Harry couldn't see. "Hi, Mum," he added, because though he'd never seen her, he was almost positive she was with James. James beamed.

"Padfoot told me the story about the Acromantula on the full moon, Dad," he said, a little shyly. "I thought it was really funny but Moony said you were furious when you found out, Mum." James laughed and said something over his shoulder. "It's a full moon tonight."

"You're missing out, Prongs," Padfoot called, returning with his toothbrush, toothpaste and food he'd obviously raided from the kitchen. All were deposited into his now rather full rucksack.

"Bye," Harry whispered, passing the mirror to his godfather. James waved again.

"I've got to go, Prongs, no time to chat unfortunately but I know you're watching us from wherever you are so keep an eye on your kid-" Padfoot grinned at Harry. "-tonight. Keep him in line and all that. I'll say hi to Moony for you, shall I?" Padfoot's voice wavered ever so slightly and he muttered a goodbye before tucking his mirror into his pocket. "Shut up," he muttered.

"What?" Harry said.

"Nothing, nothing... Now," Padfoot said, shouldering his rucksack, "please behave tonight. No brewing if you don't mind. You can practice your spells if you'd like but only in the training room and nothing flammable or explosive, got it?"

Harry rolled his eyes - the Dursleys had also been under the impression that Harry couldn't be left alone without destroying something - but nodded. It seemed fair, especially since Harry _was_ still prone to lighting things on fire while he slept; Padfoot had put a Fire-Freezing Charm on his bedroom.

"Keep your wand on you at all times, don't answer the door - Moony's the only one who rings the doorbell anyway and he'll be indisposed tonight - don't leave the house, and if anything goes wrong, send a message with Hedwig - she'll be able to cover the distance in about an hour."

"Okay," Harry said, shrugging.

"Good," Padfoot said. "There's food if you're hungry, books if you're bored or you could talk Kreacher into playing Exploding Snap or Snitch-and-Seeker-" That was what wizards called Hide-and-Seek, Harry had learned. "-or get him to tell you a story or-"

"Padfoot," Harry said laughing, "it's fine."

"Oh, and make sure you're in bed at a reasonable hour. Kreacher can make you breakfast if you're up early but I should be home by about seven anyway-"

"Padfoot," Harry said.

"I know I've forgotten something," Padfoot muttered, crossing to the door.

"Forgotten something?" Harry asked, trailing after him. "I think you've just recited an entire parenting textbook!"

Padfoot ignored that and then said, "Aha! Don't go near the Floo or that bloody locket."

"I won't," Harry assured him. "Say hi to Moony for me."

"I will," Padfoot said. And then, almost as if he was speaking to himself, said, "There. How's that for responsible guardianship?"

"Surprisingly good," Harry offered.

"I'll see you in the morning," Padfoot said with a smug smile.

* * *

Padfoot pushed the back gate open and walked slowly along the stone path that led to the forest. A slight breeze ruffled his fur and the grass under his paws felt better than he could have imagined after so long inside. He'd missed the simplicity of the world when he was like this, too; he'd had a lot on his mind lately but none of that seemed to matter to him at the moment. It was particularly nice not to feel the effects of the Dementor's Draught, which chattered away at him constantly.

He let out a happy, doggy sigh and trotted forward. He was a few yards into the trees when a large, sandy mass emerged and growled quietly. Padfoot barked a greeting, refusing to let Moony's lingering pain ruin his brilliant mood, and the wolf's ears twitched.

He loped over and jammed his cold nose into Padfoot's shoulder. Padfoot's tongue lolled out and he nudged the wolf's neck and gave his ear a nip. Moony snorted. Padfoot backed off a little; Moony was taller than he had been all those years ago and probably not used to company anymore.

Moony came over to sniff him again and then his ears perked up and his tail began to wag slowly; he had recognised Padfoot and was _happy_ to see him. Padfoot could smell it. Moony bounced closer and gave Padfoot an excited bump and nipped his ear the way Padfoot had done before. Padfoot barked and Moony barked back.

Moony remained excited - he chased Padfoot and Padfoot chased him for a good few minutes - until he stopped suddenly. Padfoot ran into his side but he didn't even notice. Moony turned his large head to look at Padfoot. Brown eyes - which looked remarkably human - met grey ones and Moony made a soft woofing sound and flattened his ears against his skull.

Padfoot backed away, recognising the potential danger sign both instinctually and from the memories of full moons long ago. Moony didn't attack though. He made the noise again and then whined and looked around, his tail drooping. Only after Moony had taken several more looks around did Padfoot understand.

He was looking for Prongs.

That ruined Padfoot's good mood pretty quickly, although he wasn't in a bad mood, just a sad one. Padfoot barked once, quietly, and sat down, resting his head on his paws. Moony whimpered again. Padfoot let out a sighing noise and then whined once. Moony's tail was well and truly between his legs now and his entire body seemed to slump.

He came over and nudged Padfoot's side with his nose and then he tilted his head back and howled a loud, mournful note to the moon and to the stars because the stag wasn't there, because the stag never would be again.

There was no anger this time, as there had been other times when one of them couldn't make it. The wolf knew this was different. Padfoot could smell it, the grief, and the longing and the pain. Moony howled again and Padfoot stood, padded over to the wolf's side and joined his lament.

Quite a while later, when the howling had stopped, the wolf began to glance around again, this time looking near their paws instead of head-level. He was looking for Wormtail.

Padfoot bared his teeth and let out a long snarling sound. Moony watched curiously but after a moment, he seemed to understand. He bared his own teeth - significantly longer and pointier than Padfoot's - and growled once before he turned and walked into the underbrush, his nose to the ground.

He was looking for Wormtail, for the traitor. For the one who'd destroyed their pack. Padfoot followed eagerly, excited at the prospect of a hunt, though the human in him knew the traitor wasn't anywhere near here. His teeth stayed bared, ready to tear _the_ rat - or any other rat they came across - to shreds.

* * *

"Has there been news, Albus?" Minerva whispered.

Dumbledore shook his head and Fawkes let out a mournful cry. Severus managed not to roll his eyes, but only just; it had been a week since the boy vanished from his St Mungo's room. Severus had thought Lupin was a prime candidate for that but he'd been home when Dumbledore went to visit less than five minutes later and supposedly cleaning up the remains of a late dinner which indicated he'd been there for quite some time, instead of at the hospital, stealing James Potter's son.

It irked a bit. Severus would have liked someone to blame for Dumbledore's incessant worrying. The magical residue analysis had been useless; the wards at St Mungo's destroyed magical residue because it could affect patients with magical ailments. As such, there was no way of knowing when or how Potter had escaped, or who had been there to help him.

Severus had given up trying to understand how it had happened, and decided Black had managed something supposedly impossible - like his escape from Azkaban - yet again. That someone as mediocre as Black could accomplish something as... not mediocre... bothered Severus more than he cared to admit.

"I'm sure the boy is fine," Severus said impatiently. "He was alive as of a week ago, which indicates Black may not be as determined to kill him as we originally thought."

Minerva gave him a look that suggested he was being deliberately obtuse. "You've never had one positive thing to say about Sirius Black in all the time I've known you, Severus," she said a little thickly, "and you choose _now_of all times to begin?"

"It was hardly a positive thing," Severus said stiffly. "I'm merely thoroughly tired of hearing old news spoken about as if it's new."

Minerva bristled. "There is a child _missing_, Severus. Surely even you-"

"Minerva," Dumbledore said quietly, though he looked troubled.

Severus' lip curled. Missing children were not a matter to be taken lightly, even if this child in particular seemed to make a habit of conveniently vanishing from where he was supposed to be. _A troublemaker like his wretched father_, Severus thought scathingly.

He had, of course, considered a visit to Grimmauld Place. It would be the responsible thing to do, given the circumstances, but three things had stopped him. Firstly, Black and Potter - both of whom ranked in the top ten of Severus' most loathed list (Pettigrew, Potter, Black, the Dark Lord, Lupin, Tobias Snape, the Longbottom boy, Bellatrix, Potter's spawn and Petunia Evans) - resided there.

Secondly, it wasn't his business whether the Potter boy was safe - dubious though safety was with Black as a guardian. He had no valid reason to drop by other than to ease his own infuriating conscience, which kept reminding him that he had promised Dumbledore - and later Lily Evans' grave - that he would protect the boy.

Thirdly, if something was amiss and the Potter boy wasn't there, or he was injured, he would become Severus' problem, at least for the immediate future. That too was unacceptable. _He can rot, _Severus thought irritably as both Dumbledore and Minerva talked in quiet, anxious voices. _They both can._

* * *

Harry was just taking his glasses off for bed when the doorbell clanged through the house. Mrs Black's portrait started to complain from the linen cupboard on the landing but it seemed she'd mellowed since being moved there - Kreacher was the only one she ever had any contact with and apparently that suited her - because Harry hadn't heard her shriek since arriving back from St Mungo's.

He jammed his glasses back on, snatched up his wand and hissed, "Kreacher!" Kreacher materialised a moment later, in the middle of Harry's dark bedroom. "Don't answer the door," Harry told him.

"Master Sirius gave Kreacher his orders," Kreacher said. "Master was specific as always." His voice dropped and he muttered - half to himself, half to Harry - in somewhat grudging, somewhat admiring tones. "So specific, in fact, that Kreacher cannot even go on the ground floor tonight, though Kreacher is sure Master has his reasons."

"Yeah, he does," Harry assured the elf.

The doorbell rang again and Mrs Black called for Kreacher to answer it. Kreacher twitched, as if he was about to do as he was told but then visibly restrained himself; he was only allowed to follow the portrait's orders if he asked Padfoot for permission first. The doorbell rang a third time. Kreacher left to calm his poor Mistress and Harry crossed to the window to try to see who it was.

He squinted, trying to make out the figure in the dim glow of the street light. He couldn't tell if it was a man or a woman, how old they were, or how tall. He couldn't even tell what they were wearing; they just looked like a shadow. _Probably just a muggle salesman_, he thought, trying to calm himself down.

_Odd hours to come at, but that's fine. _The figure moved as Harry watched and then extended an arm. Harry assumed it was to tug on the string that rang the doorbell. _They'll go away when no one answers._

The sound of the front door opening, and the sound of someone stepping onto the squeaky floorboard just inside the door, drifted up the stairs. Harry thought he might be sick. Gripping his wand so tightly his knuckles were white, he ran out onto the landing and peered over the banister where he could see the end of the ground floor hallway illuminated by the lamps that came on whenever someone entered the house.

A dark figure walked into view, peering down the stairs at the dark kitchen and then began to tilt their head up. Harry threw himself down onto the floor. His existence should be concealed by the Fidelius Charm but he wasn't taking any chances. He counted to five and then crawled forward, looking between the rails instead of over them this time, but the intruder was gone.

The lamp light from downstairs guttered out and plunged the house into darkness again. There was a low curse from the stairwell and then a faint white light lit up on the second floor.

Harry opened Kreacher's cupboard door, grabbed the elf with no more explanation than, "Shh!" and dragged him into his room. He closed the door as much as he could without it actually clicking shut in the hopes it would muffle any noise - thought _Ostendere me omnia_ - and then span on the spot.

They landed in the dark, but it was warm and the quiet gurgle of water told Harry he'd brought them to the right place. Kreacher snapped his fingers and a little candle sitting atop the boiler flared into life.

"There's someone in the house," Harry breathed.

"An intruder in the House of Black!" Kreacher croaked, looking stricken. He snapped his fingers again and a heavy, copper saucepan appeared in his hand. Harry stared at him. "Master Harry will stay here and safe," he croaked.

"Where are you going?" Harry whispered. The menacing look in Kreacher's eyes was enough of an answer as he flicked a hand at the door and it popped open. "You can't go alone!" Harry said, scrambling out of the den after him. Kreacher, unlike Harry, wasn't protected by the Fidelius Charm.

"Kreacher is capable of protecting his home and his Master," Kreacher said, hefting the pan. He took a step toward the kitchen stairs and let out a quiet shriek. Harry jumped and knocked one of the chairs over.

"What happened?" Harry asked.

"Magic," Kreacher croaked. "Sent to find us."

"They know we're here?" Harry asked, alarmed. "But the Fidel-" Kreacher's bony fingers wrapped around Harry's forearm and then they were in Harry's bedroom again. The lamps on the walls were blazing merrily. Harry shivered; the intruder must have left them on. "Kreacher, what-?" he whispered.

"Quietly, Master Harry," Kreacher said edging toward the door. Harry tip-toed after him and peered out onto the landing. It was clear, and the pair crept out to the top of the stairs. A dark shape moved on the third floor, headed down. Kreacher lifted his pan determinedly and moved silently onto the stairs. Harry followed, wand aloft.

They were moving faster than the intruder, who seemed to be checking each room on the way down. Kreacher stopped suddenly midway down the stairs - Harry walked into the back of him with a quiet, "Oof! Sorry!" - and glanced around the next bend in the stairs.

The intruder, a tall shadow, was on the first floor landing, looking into the drawing room. Without hesitation, Kreacher snapped his fingers and the intruder fell to the floor with a thump. Their wandlight went out, plunging the landing back into darkness.

"You didn't kill them, did you?" Harry whispered.

Kreacher made a strange noise that could have been a laugh - though Harry wasn't sure that house elves _could_laugh - and prowled forward to nudge the prone form onto its back with his foot, seeming satisfied. Suddenly, the pan dropped. It landed disturbingly close to the intruder's head and rang dully when it hit the carpet.

Kreacher keeled over with a high-pitched moan, clutching his head. Harry took a step forward, not entirely sure what was happening, at least until the intruder's rigid body relaxed and they sat up and lifted their wand.

"_Digitum Moverum!_" Harry yelled and the intruder's fingers twitched uncontrollably. The wand dropped silently to the carpet and Harry dove for it, only to be shoved - quite hard, out of the way. He couldn't see the intruder - his back was to them - but he knew one spell that might be effective. "_Lumos Maxima!_" he shouted.

His wand lit up brilliantly, blinding Harry but also the intruder; there was a curse and the sound of movement behind him. He spun, ready to use another spell and then his stomach lurched and he found himself staring at the carpet. Kreacher was still keening on the ground.

"Did no one ever inform you it was rude to attack house guests?" a snide voice asked. The lamps on the walls sputtered into life and Harry found himself looking into the eyes of a flushed, rather disgruntled Snape.

Harry wasn't sure whether to be relieved or terrified. "We... er... don't get many visitors. Sir," he added hastily.

"After such a warm welcome, one can only imagine why," Snape said in a voice laced with sarcasm. Harry pushed his glasses up - gravity was trying its best to pull them off his face - and tried to look as unruffled as he could given that he was dangling six feet in the air by his ankle; his sock was just brushing the ceiling.

_It's not exactly polite to wander into someone else's house unannounced_, he thought, but didn't dare voice it.

"I suppose your troglodytic godfather is waiting to ambush me on the next level?" Snape continued, sounding bored.

"Er... No," Harry promised, though he had no idea what 'troglodytic' meant. "Your spell would have picked that up, wouldn't it?" Snape looked surprised and then inclined his head. "Could you maybe let me down, please? Sir." Snape stooped to examine the copper pan Kreacher had armed himself with and then straightened to meet Harry's eyes.

"Can you and your elf be trusted not to assault me?" Harry glanced at Kreacher, who was curled up and obviously in pain, but quiet.

"Yes." Snape flicked his wand and Harry dropped to the ground, not gently, but not as hard as he should have. He immediately scrambled over to Kreacher's side. "What did you do to him?" he demanded.

"Nothing," Snape said, his expression unreadable.

"It's not nothing!" Harry said, watching Kreacher's eyes flicker beneath his eyelids, like he was experiencing a particularly bad nightmare. The elf whimpered. "You've hurt him!" Snape's eyes widened just enough for Harry to notice but he regained control quickly.

"I did nothing of the kind."

_Liar, _Harry thought, glaring at him. He gave Kreacher's arm a squeeze and the elf's eyes snapped open. They landed on Harry and then fluttered shut again, but it was peaceful this time. Harry took a moment to make sure he was breathing and then relaxed. He shot another glare at Snape, whose face was blank.

"I require a word with Black."

"He's not here," Harry said. "_Sir_."

"And where might he be?" Snape's eyes, cold and dark bored into Harry's.

"Out," Harry said, meeting his gaze squarely.

"I see," Snape said, his expression turning from mildly irritated to almost furious. "And when will he next grace you with his presence?"

"Morning," Harry said.

Snape's lip curled. "He left you alone, overnight?"

"I have Kreacher," Harry said defensively. Snape's eyes flicked to Kreacher's limp form and he didn't need to say anything for Harry to know what he was thinking.

Several expressions flitted over his pallid face and then he said, "Pack a bag."

"What?" Harry asked.

"You will return to Hogwarts with me," Snape said. "I will bring you back in the morning when I come to speak with Black."

"I can't go to Hogwarts!" Harry said. "I'm not old enough, and people would recognise me! And what if Padfoot came back and I wasn't here?! I-"

"I will not let you stay here alone," Snape said in a tone that brooked no argument.

Harry argued anyway.

"Let me?" he asked, his eyes narrowing. Snape actually flinched. Harry wondered why but didn't ask. "With all due respect, sir, I really don't think that's up to you." His voice was the perfect mix between Padfoot's sarcasm and Moony's polite disbelief. Harry was quite proud of himself. "I was told not to leave the house-"

"You are nine years old. You are not old enough to spend the night alone."

"I had Kreacher," Harry snapped.

"No longer."

_And whose fault is that? _Harry thought scathingly.

"Pack a bag," Snape repeated.

"You'll... Do you promise to bring me back in the morning?" Harry asked tentatively.

"It seems Black's stupidity is contagious," Snape remarked and then said more loudly, "I have already made that clear, Potter."

"What about Kreacher?" Harry asked stubbornly.

Snape glanced at the sleeping house elf. "He'll have a headache when he wakes."

"But he'll be okay?" Harry pressed.

Snape gave him a look that had Harry scurrying upstairs to pack his rucksack.

* * *

"I thought most children slept at night," Snape remarked from his corner.

Harry looked up tiredly. They'd Flooed directly to Snape's quarters in the dungeons of Hogwarts - at first Harry thought Snape was going to lock him up until morning - some six hours ago. Harry had, despite his guilt for going against one of the few rules Padfoot had set, made it through without getting lost or hurt.

Snape's quarters were dark and simple; green carpet (which Harry had got ash on) covered the floor and the walls were dull grey stone, though one was decorated with a Slytherin banner and the other was comprised solely of a bookshelf.

There was a black leather couch next to that, a lumpy bed in one corner, a door opposite which led to a small bathroom, and a desk and cabinet in another corner. There were another two doors - one alongside the cabinet and desk, and one embedded in the bookshelf wall (the shelf arched around it) - that Snape had not told Harry about and he had known better than to ask.

Snape had conjured a camp bed right beside the bathroom door and directed Harry there immediately before settling onto his couch. He obviously had no intention of sleeping while Harry was in the room and Harry was much the same.

He could imagine nothing worse than having a nightmare and having to explain why he'd set Snape on fire, or accidentally telling Snape about the Horcruxes (whatever they were) or having to be woken by Snape at six-thirty to go home.

Harry fiddled with the pieces of Regulus' snake puzzle, pleased he'd had the foresight to bring it and said, "I'm not tired." That lie may have fooled Snape - though Harry somehow doubted it - but the yawn that followed well and truly gave him away.

He stuffed the puzzle back into his rucksack and pulled out the book he'd brought so that he had something to hide behind. Snape sneered and looked back to the papers he was marking with an irritated expression.

"Tell me, Potter-" he said suddenly. Harry started - Snape had hardly spoken to him all night - and glanced up. "-how long a Polyjuice Potion should take to brew." Harry blinked. He'd never heard of a Poly-whatever-it-was Potion before.

"I don't know, sir," he said, peeking over the top of his book.

"If I were to tell you it was an extremely complex and delicate potion..." Snape prompted.

"A long time then, I suppose," Harry said tentatively. Snape smiled viciously and scribbled a large 'T' on the parchment he was holding.

"You are nine years old, correct?"

"Yes, sir," Harry said nervously. Snape added a comment beneath that and picked up another piece of parchment. His dark eyes flicked back and forward for a few moments and then he etched another 'T' onto that parchment with a flourish. "What do those letters mean?" Harry blurted. "I've never seen them used as a grade-"

"Wizards have a different grading system than muggles," Snape said.

"Oh." That made sense. "What do they stand for?"

"Outstanding, Exceeds Expectations, Acceptable, Poor, Dreadful and Troll."

"Troll?" Harry asked.

"It is synonymous with Gryffindor," Snape remarked, scribbling something down on the parchment he was holding.

Harry's eyes narrowed. "Are you saying Gryffindors are trolls?" he asked carefully. Snape marked something with an 'A' and glanced up.

"Not at all," he said slowly, and fixed Harry with a look that Harry couldn't read but felt mocked by nonetheless. "I'm merely saying their ability in my subject could be rivalled by a creature with a brain no larger than your fist."

Harry made a fist and stared at it for a few seconds before saying, "They can't be that bad."

Snape's lip curled. "Talented Potions students are few and far between and the only one I've known who came from Gryffindor finished school before you were born."

"If you think students are stupid, why do you teach?" Snape scratched another mark - and 'E' this time - onto an essay. Harry waited.

"If you're expecting me to justify my choices to you, Potter, then you're as delusional as your father and godfather." Harry frowned and glanced back at his book; it was about Dementors, something Harry had taken to reading about to try to find a solution other than chocolate that would fully heal Padfoot.

Snape gave him a superior look and grabbed another roll of parchment. After a moment, Harry glanced up again and fixed Snape with a speculative look.

"Yes, Potter?" Snape asked, sounding resigned. Harry flushed and looked down.

"Nothing."

"How extraordinarily like your father you are, Potter. It would seem the penchant to waste my time is genetic." Harry swallowed a rude comment.

"Sorry," he muttered instead. His eyes flicked up to Snape again.

"What?" Snape asked, sounding irritated.

"Could- could I ask you something?"

"Just like your father, indeed," Snape sneered. "Always assuming I have nothing better to do than entertain your every whim-" Harry bit down on his tongue to stop himself from telling Snape to shut up about his father.

"Could you tell me about Dementors?" Harry asked. Snape's face drained of colour.

"I beg your pardon?" he asked, sounding stunned.

"Well, I'm reading about them, but I thought maybe if you explained it I might be able to understand better-" He always learnt faster when he had a chance to practice – if it was a spell or potion – or when Padfoot talked him through it. He envied Padfoot a bit, for being able to read something and so it. "-and I can't ask Padf- Sirius-" He could not, of course, mention Moony. "-so I thought that maybe you-?"

"There is nothing I can tell you that you will not find in your book," Snape said stiffly. "And as for asking Black, I see no reason why you should not. He is surely an expert by now." Harry frowned. "Although, if I remember correctly, Black's retention skills have always been somewhat... lacking." That was one comment too many.

"Why are you so horrible to them?" Harry asked. He didn't recall grabbing it, but his wand was in his hand, spitting sparks. "I know you didn't get along with Dad and Padfoot in school, but-"

"How touching," Snape said softly. "James Potter's son has taken his father's place as Black's number one defender." Harry glowered at him. Snape met his eyes, rolled up the parchment he was reading and set his quill down. He got to his feet and swept over to Harry's camp bed and bent so that he and Harry were the same height. "Allow me to shatter any delusions you have, Potter; Black is a monster. He was capable of murder at the age of sixteen and your precious father was no better."

"Padfoot wouldn't-" Harry protested.

"Wouldn't he?" Snape sneered, showing his yellow teeth. "Black, Potter and Lupin - who the Headmaster tells me you became fond of during your time in St Mungo's - plotted to kill me in our fifth year. They _should_ have been expelled. Your guardian may have been wrongfully imprisoned over the whole Secret Keeper fiasco, but let there be no doubt he belonged there."

"You're wrong," Harry said, furiously. He pushed it down with an effort. _Not long now - I can go home in ten minutes. I just have to stay-_

"I assure you I'm not." Snape smiled nastily. "The truth hurts, doesn't it, Potter." Snape straightened and turned back toward the couch.

"I think you're jealous," Harry said, glaring at him.

Snape's sneer faltered just enough for Harry to know he'd hit a nerve but then he said, "Obviously. However did you guess I've always aspired to be an obnoxious toerag?"

"Padfoot's not an obnoxious toerag!" Harry snapped.

"I wasn't talking about your godfather," Snape said with another nasty smile.

"My dad wasn't either!"

"As far as I know, Potter, you've never really met the man. Surely you can't think you know better than those of us who have had the... pleasure..." Snape's lip curled, "of doing so."

_But-but Dad was good. Dad was an Order member. _"Padfoot said-"

"Your godfather worshipped the ground your saintly father walked on," Snape continued mercilessly. "He wouldn't be able to see a fault in James Potter if it were a bludger that flew into the side of his overly large head."

"SHUT UP!" Harry shouted. Several heavy books exploded off of the bookshelf and the Slytherin banner swayed in a non-existent wind. The papers Snape was marking flew out of their neat pile and scattered.

"I say-" a portrait of a sallow faced woman on Snape's desk exclaimed. Harry stuffed his book back into his rucksack and stood.

"Potter, what-" Harry ignored him, stalked toward the fireplace, grabbed a handful of Floo Powder, and vanished.


	22. Into The Wolf's Den

"Harry!" Padfoot, who had been pacing in front of the kitchen table, looked up, stepped forward and intercepted Harry as he came out of the fire. "Cupboard!" he said, waving a hand at a rather green Kreacher, who bowed unsteadily and vanished with far more noise than usual.

"You're here?" Harry asked, paling. He hadn't thought Padfoot would be home for a while yet. He'd hoped to get rid of Snape without there being a confrontation between the snarky Professor and his godfather.

_There go my chances of that,_ he thought grimly.

"Where in Merlin's name have you been?!" Padfoot demanded, looking truly angry for one of the first times Harry had ever seen. He pulled Harry into a tight hug and then let him go and held him by the shoulders. "Kreacher doesn't remember anything - he didn't even know you were gone!"

"I had him reading the wards again to find out where you'd got to! I thought you knew better than to just go wandering off, _especially _without leaving me a note! Did you forget about Hedwig?" Harry had and was sure Padfoot could read that right off of his face. "Don't you remember what happened last time you went in the Floo!?"

"Yes, I remember," Harry snapped. His shock at finding Padfoot home early - and supremely irritated - had vanished and his bad mood had returned. Padfoot looked taken aback at his tone and then frowned.

"Don't get shirty with me, Harry. I asked you not to leave the house, I _trusted_ you to do what you were told-"

"It wasn't my fault!" Padfoot arched an eyebrow.

"Oh, really? Whose fault was it, then? Mine? Moony's? Kreac-" Snape chose that moment to step out of the fireplace. Padfoot's wand was at his throat in an instant.

"Nice to see you're back where you're supposed to be, Black," he said, pushing it down.

"_You_," Padfoot snarled. "You took Harry?" Snape's eyes flicked to Harry, who wanted nothing more than to sink into the floor. At least Padfoot wasn't angry with _him_ now.

"How is the elf?" Snape asked, rolling his own wand between his fingers.

"What did you do to him?" Padfoot asked.

"Nothing permanent," Snape said with a nasty smile.

"What do you want?" Padfoot asked after a moment of silence. Harry sank into a chair, his eyes shifting between his godfather and Snape.

"To know why you were off... marauding... while the boy was here."

"And that's your business for what reason?" Padfoot asked coolly. "You didn't want to implicate yourself, or help, last I knew, Snape. Why the change of heart?"

"Because _someone_ has to care for the boy and it is becoming increasingly obvious that you're not capable."

"You can't help yourself, can you?" Padfoot asked with a grimace. "You just have to stick that oversized snout of yours into other people's business." Snape's face turned a pale pink, but his voice was no less venomous.

"I know where you were last night."

"Congratulations. Remind me again why it's your concern?"

"I saw the moon," Snape sneered. "Anyone who's not a complete dunderhead could work out what you were doing."

"How in Merlin's name did you manage it, then?" Padfoot asked, looking genuinely astonished. Snape's face turned pinker.

"You should be locked up," he snarled. "The only reason you're not is because someone else would have to put up with Potter's spawn and it's far more convenient to inflict you on each other than on innocent members of the public-"

"I hope you don't mean yourself when you say innocent."

"I certainly didn't mean you."

"Your last visit was to tell me I was innocent," Padfoot sneered. "Remember?" Snape's eyes narrowed. "So are you a liar, or just fickle? Because I can't think of any other explanat- ack!" Snape stepped forward and caught Padfoot by the throat.

Harry launched himself over, trying to get between them but Snape waved his wand and Harry was sent stumbling backwards. When he tried to move, he found his shoes stuck to the floor. He bent to undo his shoelaces but they were stiff, like wire and wouldn't unknot. He also found he couldn't speak. Meanwhile Snape's hand was back around Padfoot's throat, and Padfoot's wand was at Snape's.

"Give me a reason, Black. 'Innocent' or not, I'll do it." Snape pressed his wand into Padfoot's neck.

"Killing me would somewhat ruin _your_ innocence," Padfoot said, his voice about as strong as it could possibly be, given his constricted airway. "And then you'd need to make arrangements for Harry. And then, of course," Padfoot choked, "would come the questions about how you knew where to find Harry and me, and what the circumstances of my death were."

"Excuses can be made."

"Certainly," Padfoot agreed in a surprisingly civil tone. "But how quickly? When there are several hours between my recorded time of death in the Department of Magical Records' birth and death registry and you coming forward, they'll get suspicious." Snape's hand tightened. "And they'll be more than suspicious when you get a mention in my will."

"What?"

"To Snivellus Snape," Padfoot said, his eyes glinting, "I leave the book _Killer Curses_ so the next person he kills can have a more exciting death than the one he gave me. _Commutatio Donum Mortis._" A silver star fizzled out of his wand tip, alarmingly close to Snape's face.

"Undo it," Snape growled, releasing Padfoot and shoving him back. Several chairs went tumbling to the ground and Padfoot collided with the table with a painful thud.

"No," he said, quite calmly.

"_Now_."

"Sod off, Snivelly. When have I _ever _listened to you?"

"You would do well to listen to me," Snape said. "I may not kill you, but I can still turn you over to the Dementors." Padfoot shivered, his expression distant. A moment later, he smiled.

"You wouldn't dare," Padfoot said. Snape looked as confused about that as Harry was.

"Oh, wouldn't I?"

"No," Padfoot said, picking himself up off of the ground. He placed himself between Snape and Harry. "Because I'll tell them all about you."

"You won't have the chance."

"Won't I? I rather think they'll want me brought to trial. It restores confidence in the system, you see. And they'll want me questioned. You don't really think they'd send me back to Azkaban before figuring out how I escaped, do you? And they'll want to know where I lived, and how I avoided them for as long as I did. I'm sure I could find _some_ way to slip your name into the conversation."

"I'll take you straight to the Dementors. You'll be Kissed the moment they see you." Snape's smile was all yellow teeth.

"That'd be unfortunate. For you. I don't know if you know this, Snivellus, but a Kissed person is considered dead." Snape's smile slid off his face. "If I'm Kissed, my will would be brought out and you'll be implicated." Padfoot was smiling pleasantly now. "If you act against me, Snivellus, your life is ruined." Padfoot didn't look overly upset at the prospect. Snape's wand spat black and green sparks. Harry might have taken a step backward if his shoes weren't stuck.

"And Lupin?" Snape asked softly. "I can't attack you directly, Black, but you've always been protective of your pet." Now Padfoot's wand was spitting sparks. "I could out him for conspiring with you." Snape's eyes flashed with suppressed glee. Harry thought he saw terror pass over Padfoot's face but it was gone a moment later and he didn't think Snape had noticed it at all.

"Conspiring with me?" Padfoot asked, looking puzzled. "Remus?"

"Don't tell me he's not-" Snape began impatiently.

"The last time I saw him," Padfoot said in a disbelieving tone, "he could have quite happily killed me and not felt guilty at all."

"Indeed?" Snape asked. "Explain then, Black, where you were last night, if not crouched on the other side of a reinforced door, whispering comforts to your furry friend."

"You think I'd go anywhere near him as a human, on a full moon?" Padfoot asked, looking stunned. "I think the potion fumes have muddled your brain!"

"You never answered my question," Snape said menacingly.

"Not that it's any of your business," Padfoot mumbled, "but you're obviously not about to leave this alone..." He swallowed, glanced briefly in Harry's direction as if urging him to play along, and then whispered, "I was dealing with my own... problems."

"And what problems might those be, Black?" Snape sneered. Padfoot righted one of the fallen chairs and sank into it.

"A few nights before Harry's birthday in July, I went out to buy him a birthday present. It was night - I didn't want Harry guessing where I was - and I was leaving the Leaky Cauldron when I was attacked." He looked up at Snape. "You've heard of Greyback, I'm sure?"

Snape, who looked uncertain, nodded. Padfoot pulled the collar of his t-shirt down to reveal a nasty scar on his neck.

"Impressive, isn't it? I was able to stop the bleeding, but that sort of a bite can't be healed."

"You're a werewolf?" Snape looked a little afraid now, but also skeptical.

"Oh, yes," Padfoot said. He bared his teeth and Harry could have sworn they were longer and pointier than usual, and that his eyes had darkened slightly. Snape inched backwards. "It's not so bad, most of the time. Full moons are by far the worst."

"Liar," Snape said.

"You're a Legillimens, aren't you?" Padfoot asked. "Have a look. Watch me transform."

Snape's eyes narrowed and then Padfoot winced, but seemed to be focusing on something. After a moment, Snape blinked and moved his head to the side, while Padfoot slumped back into his chair.

"The boy is coming with me," Snape said.

"You can't do that," Padfoot said firmly, leaping to his feet. "I'm his guardian-"

"Your kind are unable to obtain ownership of children that are not your own," Snape hissed.

"I'm not a danger to him. I killed the last wolf that came near him!" Snape looked startled. "You know he was in hospital, don't you?" Padfoot said. "Greyback sent one of his lot after Harry. It wasn't a full moon, though. They were only supposed to capture him. We put up a bit more of a fight than they expected." Padfoot smiled that very toothy smile again. "Harry was hurt so I sent him to Remus by Portkey-"

"So you admit he helped you? Your kind band together as I seem to recall-"

"I had limited options as you can imagine, and while Remus might hate me, I trusted him to do the right thing for Harry. As for banding together... I tracked the wolf that attacked us back to the camp he was housed at, killed him and then stole Harry back from St Mungo's. After Azkaban, a hospital was nothing." Padfoot smiled and Snape leaned away from him.

"I worried about tonight after everything that's happened so I left Harry here, with Kreacher, and went a long way away to transform. Turns out I needn't have worried. Nothing attacked me." His eyes darkened. "It seems the danger was here, instead."

"The boy isn't safe," Snape said, looking pale.

"That's hardly true," Padfoot scoffed. "I remove myself on full moons and I'm harmless the rest of the time." His eyes flicked to Snape. "Unless I'm provoked."

Snape flicked his wand at Harry who found he could move and talk again. "A new home can be arranged for you, Potter, if you so desire."

"And where would he go?" Padfoot asked. "If you thought he was better off with his aunt than he is with me, you'd have tried to take him last time you visited. And unless _you_ want to take him, which I'm positive isn't the case-"

"I asked the boy, Black, not you."

"I don't want a new home," Harry said coolly. "My parents trusted P- Sirius to look after me. I trust him too."

"This is the only time I will offer my assistance," Snape said, his black eyes boring into Harry's green ones. Harry stared right back. Snape was the first to look away. "Idiot boy."

"Don't talk to him that way," Padfoot growled. Snape gave him a look of utter loathing. He grabbed a handful of Floo Powder with a superior expression, as if daring Padfoot to comment on it, and vanished in a whirl of green flames.

"Holy Hufflepuff," Padfoot said, looking stunned. Harry sank into the chair next to him, unable to believe what had just happened. "Snape thinks I'm a werewolf. I _told_ Snape I was a werewolf!" Padfoot laughed weakly and ran his hands through his hair.

Harry let out a little stunned laugh too. "I almost believed you myself." Padfoot looked rather pleased with himself. "What's Legi-whatever it was?"

"Legillimency. Muggles would call it mind-reading."

"He read your mind?!" Harry exclaimed.

"Only what I showed him, kiddo."

"Which was...?"

"My first ever Animagus transformation." Padfoot grimaced. "It was... unpleasant."

"Does it hurt?"

"Oh, yes. Only the first time, though," Padfoot said. "After that, your magic and your body are sort of used to it. Werewolves aren't quite as lucky."

"And the scar?" Harry asked.

"James was in hiding and Peter was sick-" Padfoot's face contorted briefly. "-or at least that's what we believed at the time. I went with Remus, alone. He was trying out a potion made by Belby, a bloke we'd known at school. The potion was supposed to calm him down but it had the opposite effect and I couldn't leave him alone or he'd start attacking himself." He pulled a face.

"When we got back in the morning we were both pretty mangled. Your mum and dad patched us up but the healing was so delayed I was left with this." Padfoot ran a hand over his neck. "It's pretty impressive if I do say so myself, although that's the first time I've ever actually been believed when I told someone I got it from a werewolf."

"And your teeth? They were sharper." Padfoot smiled and Harry _saw_ the teeth grow longer.

"I've been an Animagus for years," he said. His teeth shrank and grew as Harry watched. "Internal organs and bone structures - minus teeth, of course - have to be done all at once, but things like ears, eyes, teeth and fur can be done individually with enough practice." He smiled.

"Your dad worked out how to grow antlers about a month before Halloween. Thought it was terribly funny until Lily started hanging things on them." Harry laughed but it turned into a yawn mid-way through. Padfoot noticed. "How much sleep did you get last night?"

"Er..."

"I suppose Snivelly sat you down on one of those horrible Potions stools and took himself off to bed, did he?" Padfoot asked angrily.

"No, he didn't," Harry said. "He made me a camp bed. I just didn't want to sleep... in case... yeah."

"Oh, kiddo," Padfoot sighed. He opened his arms and Harry went over for a hug. "You can sleep today, if you'd like?" Harry shrugged. Padfoot watched him carefully for a moment and then let him go, stretched, and made his way over to the stove. "Are you hungry, then?"

"Starving," Harry admitted.

"Does porridge sound all right?" Harry nodded, stifling another yawn. He dozed while Padfoot dug through the cupboards, muttering to himself. "Where's the saucepan?" he asked a moment later.

"What?" Harry forced his eyelids open; they'd been slowly slipping shut.

"The big copper one," Padfoot said, examining the empty hook with narrowed eyes. Harry smiled sheepishly.

"Kreacher had it. It's on the second floor landing."

"Ah, that's right," Padfoot said, snapping his fingers. "I tripped on it when I was looking for you." Harry grimaced. "Dare I ask what it's doing there?" Harry shrugged. "_Accio pan_." There was a metallic ringing from upstairs and then a thud before it whizzed down the stairs and into the kitchen. Padfoot caught it, muttered a quick charm that cleaned it and wandered into the pantry. Harry pulled his glasses down so that he could rub his eyes. He traced the wooden grain of the table to keep himself awake...

"Harry?" Padfoot's exasperatedly amused tone made Harry think that wasn't the first time he'd been called.

"Sorry, what?"

"I said I'm sorry for snapping at you."

"Oh. S'okay," Harry said, yawning. Padfoot smiled at him and turned back to the stove.

"I would have been angry, obviously-" Padfoot's voice seemed to be coming from a long way away."-but the Dementor-"

Next thing Harry knew, he was falling. He let out a little shout of surprise but there was nothing to catch. The kitchen floor was remarkably soft, or maybe he was too tired to care. He tried to push himself up before Padfoot noticed - he'd be laughed at for sure - but oddly, Padfoot was already there, pushing him down into something soft.

"Is porridge ready?" Harry mumbled. Padfoot laughed and gently removed his glasses. "What're you doing?" Harry reached, trying to get them back, but his hand only caught air.

"Sleep, kiddo," Padfoot said. He shrank into a black, furry blob which leapt up onto Harry's blanket covered - Harry wondered where that had come from - legs. Harry wasn't sure how that was even possible - because he was fairly sure he was lying on the kitchen floor - but he wasn't about to argue. Maybe Padfoot had moved him. Padfoot made a noise that was a woof crossed with a whine and then a cold, wet nose nudged Harry's hand.

He fell asleep petting the soft fur of Padfoot's ears.

* * *

Remus lay on his couch, feet dangling off the end because he was slightly taller than it was long, and brushed his damp eyes. In the eight years since it had happened, he'd more or less recovered from the grief that had come with losing Lily and James.

His wolf-self, however, had hardly given the stag a thought since that Halloween night, except perhaps to wonder why he wasn't there or to hope that he'd show up next time. And then - while Remus the man already knew it - Remus the wolf had learned from his old pack-mate that the stag was gone.

It was like losing James all over again.

He'd managed to hold himself together while Sirius patched up a graze on his shoulder and made him eat breakfast - which was accompanied by tea containing a Comforting Concoction that dulled the aches from transforming. The moment Sirius vanished into the fireplace - with strict instructions that Remus rest - Remus had shuffled over to the couch and buried his face in his hands.

He thought he'd fallen asleep at one point, but any good that may have done him had already been undone by him crying. His eyes were sore and puffy, his voice was hoarse and he ached on the inside now as well as the outside. Sirius had said he and Harry would be over for dinner but that was still hours away and so Remus found himself staring out the window at the clouds.

Two quiet pops pulled his attention away from a cloud shaped like a Golden Snitch. He saw two figures appear and walk stealthily out of the tree line toward the house. Remus didn't know whether the promise of company made him happy - he really didn't have all that many visitors - or made him want to cry some more.

His senses were sharper than an average wizard's, and were even better in the days immediately before and after a full moon. As a result, he could easily see Nymphadora's shock of tomato red hair and the bright blue of Mad-Eye's magical eye. He could also hear Mad-Eye whispering gruff instructions that had something to do with rope and his chimney.

Groaning, Remus reached for his wand, tapped his throat and thought, _Sonorus._

He pushed himself off of the soft cushions and into a sitting position and then said, "IF YOU TRY TO CLIMB DOWN MY CHIMNEY, MAD-EYE, I SWEAR TO MERLIN I'LL LIGHT A FIRE!" He heard a delighted laugh from Nymphadora and a muttered curse from Mad-Eye. "THE DOOR'S UNLOCKED," Remus added hoarsely, before wordlessly adding, _Finite._

A moment later, Mad-Eye burst in through the door - Remus was actually surprised he'd listened - and started shouting about how dangerous it was to leave doors unlocked. Nymphadora trailed in after him, looking annoyed, but not, Remus didn't think, at Mad-Eye or him.

"Wotcher," she muttered over Mad-Eye's voice. Remus nodded in her direction and then turned back to the Auror.

"Mad-Eye," Remus said, tiredly, trying to get him to shut up; shouting wasn't helping his headache at all. "Mad-Eye!"

"... very least a security question to see if you've let in the right person! Anyone could just walk in, pretending to be me and-"

"_Silencio_," Remus snapped, flicking his wand at the old Auror. Mad-Eye fell silent, looking outraged. "Constant vigilance, Mad-Eye. What if that hadn't been a harmless spell? What if I wasn't Remus Lupin? You've just walked - and brought your trainee, I might add - into a seemingly unprotected house and not even paused to consider it might be a trap-"

Mad-Eye waved his wand in a complex twist and cleared his throat; obviously he'd broken the Silencing Charm.

"I'll have you know I cast every detection charm known to Aurors - and even some they don't know about - before I put as much as a splinter of this leg through tha-"

"Moody!" Nymphadora said loudly, her hair changing from its bright red to a brighter red that seemed to have more orange in it than before. Both Remus and Mad-Eye turned to look at her. Her hair acquired a slightly pink tinge - for embarrassment perhaps? - but her eyes flashed defiantly. "Shut up!"

Remus saw a grin flash over Mad-Eye's scarred face but it was quickly gone, replaced by a neutral expression. He fixed both eyes on Nymphadora, who fidgeted, her hair now well and truly pink.

"It's been a long time since anyone's spoken to me like that." Nymphadora looked about ready to sink into Remus' floor. "I've missed it." She blinked. Remus was having a hard time holding back laughter. "Honesty will get you everywhere with me, lass," he continued. "I think I've told you that before... Constant vigilance!" Remus had known Mad-Eye too long to be surprised - though the noise made his head throb again - but poor Nymphadora jumped and almost fell over.

"Right," she muttered, her face and hair bright pink. She didn't seem able to bring herself to look at either of them. "Well, erm... we came here to talk to Lupin-" Her eyes flicked over to him and then back to Mad-Eye. "-_not_ to bicker with him so... er... maybe we should do that?"

"Talk about what?" Remus asked tiredly.

"Well-" Nymphadora said. The fire flared green and Remus thought for one horrified moment Sirius and Harry might come through. "Are you expecting someone?" she asked. He checked his watch and shook his head; they weren't due for a while yet. A moment later, the flames died down. Remus stared at it, confused and shook his head again.

"Must be broken."

"Damn Ministry," Mad-Eye growled. Remus and Nymphadora glanced at each other and silently decided not to point out that Mad-Eye worked for them.

"Right," Remus said hastily. "So you wanted to talk?"

"The girl's just been to see Malfoy," Mad-Eye said, waving his wand at Remus' armchair. It didn't react at all and Mad-Eye seemed to decide it was safe enough to sit on. The worn leather groaned quietly. Nymphadora glanced at the two of them and sat down on the end of Remus' couch that was closest to Mad-Eye.

"Oh," Remus said. He'd forgotten about that in the face of the full moon, and now - more pressingly - his headache. "How did it go?" Mad-Eye and Nymphadora exchanged grim looks. Remus laughed without humour. "That well?" he asked wryly. "Did you get a place at all?"

"Yes," Nymphadora sighed. "I got just what I needed, actually." Remus glanced at Mad-Eye but his face wasn't giving anything away.

"So what's the problem? And," he added, feeling a little nervous all of a sudden, "why does it concern me?"

Nymphadora grimaced. "He wants me to replace you."

"What do you mean?" Remus asked slowly.

"In the search," Nymphadora said, her hair turning a dark purplish blue. "He runs the magical search, obviously, and you've been running the muggle one, right?"

"Right," Remus agreed. "But only because no one else wants to do it."

"Until now," she said a little apologetically. Remus arched an eyebrow and the whole story came tumbling out: "I couldn't very well tell him I was a pureblood. He'd see through that in a heartbeat because I'm fairly sure the man could recite that stupid book - Nature's Royalty or whatever it is - and I didn't want to say I was a half-blood in case he started asking questions about Mum so I opted for muggleborn. And muggleborns are very knowledgeable when it comes to the muggle world."

"Ah," Remus said.

"The git made it very clear that he despises me," Nymphadora continued, pursing her lips, "but apparently, muggleborns are the lesser of two evils-"

Remus forgot to breathe for a moment. _No, if he'd told her, she wouldn't be sitting here. And surely Mad-Eye would have warned me..._

"Did he explain why?" Remus asked stiffly.

"No," Nymphadora said, frowning. "Now that you mention it, he didn't." She grinned. "What did you do, eh? Trip over his peacock? Say thank you to his house elf?" She chuckled at her own joke but neither Remus or Mad-Eye joined her.

"Something like that," Remus said, gesturing for her to continue.

She looked a little disconcerted. "Right. Erm... well, since he was _generous _enough to give me a job in his search, he thought he might ask a little favour in return. He wants me to replace you as- actually, he wants you gone altogether." She made an apologetic face.

"He wants me out of the search altogether?" Remus repeated.

"Not straight away." Nymphadora looked pained. "He told me to ask you to teach me everything you know, and to pass on your contacts. He says you've got a month or two at most." Remus tried not to look too delighted. He was thoroughly sick of Lucius Malfoy and his stupid prejudices, and he didn't really want to waste too many more hours searching for people he knew exactly how to find.

"We," Mad-Eye said loudly, "think otherwise."

Remus blinked. "What?"

"Theodora Tock was invented in a few hours, lad. She can vanish just as quickly."

"But then your job-" Remus began, looking at Nymphadora.

"What job?" Mad-Eye barked.

"Her spy job," Remus said. "You won't be able to do it, will you?"

"Spy job?" Mad-Eye growled. "Who said anything about a spy job?! Who've you been talking to, Lupin?"

Remus shrugged. "It's just logical that if you're sending her in undercover then you don't want her recognised, or traced back to the Auror Department. Unless the Ministry's made some sort of deal with Sirius and you're sending Nymphadora in to make sure he isn't found-" Mad-Eye snorted. "-then it's fairly likely she's there to get information on Malfoy." Mad-Eye seemed to deflate. Nymphadora's hair was growing steadily pinker. "I'm right, aren't I?"

Mad-Eye grunted and said, "Saves me explaining everything at least. You're involved now, whether you like it or not. I expect full cooperation, am I understood?"

"What do I have to do?"

"I know what finding Potter means to you," Mad-Eye said in a tone that was almost gentle. "I'm not about to take that away." Remus was oddly grateful despite the fact it didn't matter. "But we need Nymphadora-" Nymphadora cleared her throat loudly. "- in a position that gets her close to Malfoy."

"And...?"

"You don't like my uncle, do you?" Nymphadora asked.

"Not particularly, no."

She smiled. "Then how would you feel about having nothing to do with him ever again?"V Before Remus could ask what she meant, her hair was fair like Remus', her eyes were brown and she'd shot up several inches.

"His nose is longer," Mad-Eye said, glancing at her. "And his face is thinner."

Remus stared at Nymphadora, who now looked uncannily like him. "I have a scar on my right cheek," he managed.

"Hmm," she said, scrunching up her face. "Better?"

"You want to be me?" he asked.

"It gives me an excuse to be close to Lucius Malfoy," she said in his voice. Absently, Remus thought that he should either find this very funny, or mortally offensive, but couldn't seem to get past the shock. "He doesn't like you, but he tolerates you. I can lie to him, earn his trust. I can tell him whatever he needs to hear. You can still search for Harry Potter and Sirius Black. You just can't go near Malfoy. Good deal, eh?"

"I went to school with him," Remus said. "It's highly likely he'll know you aren't me, and _if_ you managed to convince him otherwise, you'd have to put up with all sorts of bigotry until you could win him over. Which you can't. His reasons for hating me aren't personality or opinion based." Nymphadora looked curious but didn't say anything. "As much as I don't like it, I think you replacing me is the better option."

"You're sure, lad?" Mad-Eye asked. Remus pretended to look torn and then nodded.

"Could you... perhaps... keep me in the loop? If you hear anything about Harry...?"

"Of course we can!" Nymphadora exclaimed. Remus hid a grin; now he'd be able to warn Sirius if the search got too close. "But you're still involved for now. I need you to teach me about the search and the people in it."

"I can start teaching you tomorrow," he said. Nymphadora glanced at Mad-Eye.

"Saturday has a 'T' in it."

"It does." To anyone else, that would have made no sense at all. Remus, however, hid a smile; Mad-Eye had used the same system with James and Sirius.

"Okay," she told Remus with a smile. "Where would you like to meet?"

They'd just discussed details for the next day and Remus had supplied tea and biscuits when there was a loud tapping at the window. A stunning - though rather small - snowy owl was perched on his kitchen windowsill. Remus thought he vaguely recognised it but couldn't say where from.

He stood to let it in and a scrap of parchment was promptly pressed into his hand. The owl flew over to Remus' own owl's perch for a drink. Strix was off delivering letters to Arabella and Dirk saying Remus was unwell, and could they please patrol London today.

"Didn't I teach you anything?!" Mad-Eye roared as Remus unfolded the parchment. "Never open something without checking it for curses first!"

Remus ignored him, eyes scanning over shaky, childish writing.

_Moony,_

_Padfoot won't wake up. Sorry to bother you, but I didn't know who else to go to for help._

_Harry._

It took Remus a moment to remember how to breathe.

"Lupin?" Nymphadora said, exchanging a worried glance with Mad-Eye. "Are you all right?"

"No," Remus said. He held the parchment up, but didn't hold it still in case Mad-Eye tried to read it. "A friend of mine...er-" Remus said the first thing that came to mind. "-had a rough night."

"Is there anything we can do to help?" Nymphadora asked.

"Hufflepuffs," Mad-Eye muttered. Nymphadora shot him an irritated look.

"No, thank you," Remus said. The snowy owl screeched at him. "I need to go. Tomorrow should still be fine, I just need to sort this out-"

"Are you sure there isn't-"

"Leave him to it, Nymphadora. We're off anyway. Can't have my trainee late. Scrimgeour'd never let me forget it." He ushered her out and there were two quiet pops. Remus took a quick look out the window to make sure they were actually gone.

Heart pounding, he grabbed a handful of Floo Powder and croaked, "Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place."


	23. Feuds And Fairy Eggs

"Where have you been?" Prewett whispered as Tonks sidled into the room, late. Scrimgeour glanced at her, and then his yellow eyes flicked over to where Mad-Eye was standing, looking like he'd been there the whole time. Tonks waited until Scrimgeour was distracted by a question from the Brown boy.

"Let's just say I know where the 'Mad' in 'Mad-Eye' comes from," she muttered. Marlene turned away, hiding a smile; James had said something very similar after he and - Marlene forced herself to think the name - Sirius' first proper lesson with the Auror.

"He stopped to interrogate the wizard who checks wands in the atrium, and then he took us down to Broom Regulation and Control to throw off anyone who might want to follow us - for Merlin knows what reason! - to ask whether there were any laws about putting enchantments on your own broomstick."

"Of course there are," Marlene told her. Wellington and Clarke, who were on Prewett's other side, looked stunned to hear her speak. "Quidditch players have been sacked for doing that!"

"Oh, that's right!" Clarke exclaimed. "Dmitri-"

"Who?" Prewett asked blankly.

"He used to play Seeker for the Montrose Magpies," Clarke said impatiently. Marlene's eyebrows rose. Melvin Clarke was one of the most painfully shy people she'd ever met, yet he was talking passionately about _Quidditch_ of all things. They might get on better than she'd thought. "He was sacked because he put a charm on his Cleansweep to make it repel anything that weighed more than a Snitch. Bagman - he used to play for the Wimbourne Wasps - got his nose broken because it repelled him into one of the goalposts."

"That's exactly what the bloke at the desk said," Tonks replied, sighing. "And then Moody said, 'Do I look like a Quidditch Player to you?!'-" She managed to mimic his voice uncannily well. "-and things sort of went downhill from there."

"But you missed this morning's session too," Prewett pressed.

"So did you," Clarke pointed, suddenly shy again.

"I missed the first half an hour," Prewett snapped. Clarke looked like he wanted to sink into the floor. "And I already told you: I slept in." Wellington sniggered.

Tonks made a face. "If you must know," she said a little irritably, "Moody had me unpacking boxes."

"Boxes?" Wellington asked doubtfully.

"He's just moved house," Tonks sighed. "And of course, he doesn't want them all unpacked in case he needs to leave again in a hurry, but he didn't tell me that until I'd unpacked and resized _all _of his books and he only wanted certain ones out. I did it wrong yesterday, so he had me come back..." The other three made faces and didn't notice when Tonks caught Mad-Eye's eye and winked. Marlene did.

"Maybe you could ask to swap mentor?" Prewett suggested.

Tonks shook her head. "Nah, I'll manage. So, what were you lot doing while I was playing removalist?"

"Well, training, obviously. But yesterday we were catching up with family," Prewett said grimly.

"Apparently Sirius Black might come after her cousin," Clarke told them.

"That'd be exciting," Wellington said.

Marlene held her tongue. Just. _Idiot. None of you would stand a chance against Sirius._ Marlene knew that for a fact because they'd duelled this morning; each Friday training session was going to begin with an hour of duelling. Wellington was slow, and took too long to decide what to use, though the spells he did use were very powerful.

Prewett had looked like she might have been a decent duellist - still nowhere near as good as Marlene remembered Sirius being - but she'd seemed a little out of things. Clarke had the potential to be very, very good, if he could get over his apparent aversion to hurting people; he'd hit Marlene with a Body-Bind and then cast a Cushioning Charm almost immediately so she wouldn't be uncomfortable when she hit the floor. It was a nice sentiment, but a waste of time, and during the war, it probably would have cost him his life.

"It would be terrifying, actually," Prewett said icily. "And I think they've got enough to deal with without this hanging over them." Clarke looked sad.

"I agree," Marlene said quietly.

"You know Aunt Alice?" Prewett asked carefully.

"We shared a dormitory." That was as much as she was willing to share, but thankfully, Prewett didn't ask any more.

"Did you ever meet Mrs Longbottom?" Clarke asked. Marlene nodded. Clarke chewed his lip for a moment, as if debating whether to say something or not. "Is she always so...?"

"Cranky?" Marlene supplied. Prewett rolled her eyes. "Yes. You get used to it, though."

"How?"

Marlene shrugged. "Time. She rarely takes to anyone straight away." _Except for Alice. Alice could have said or done _anything_ and got away with it... That's just Alice, though. Or was. Now she doesn't say or do much at all. _

"Well aren't you two cheerful?" Tonks said, grinning. Wellington sniggered. "Melvin, Mrs Longbottom might be a bit... difficult, but there are worse people to work for. Believe me," she muttered. Marlene looked up despite herself, wondering what it was the Mad-Eye had the girl doing; she hadn't bought the boxes story, although she _did_ believe the Broom Regulation and Control one. "And, McKinnon, you look like someone's died! Sirius won't get to them if they've got Aurors with them."

The Tonks girl clearly meant this to be comforting. Marlene found it distressing, however; Alice and Frank had been Aurors. They'd started training in their seventh year and qualified a year later. They'd been two of the best, and that hadn't saved them when Bellatrix Lestrange came knocking. The look on Prewett's face told Marlene that they were thinking along the same lines.

"Right," Marlene said flatly and stalked off to find someone else to stand with. She discounted the rest of the trainees almost immediately, and - since her own mentor wasn't around - went to stand by Mad-Eye.

"McKinnon," he said, glancing at her with his real eye. His magical one was watching Tonks.

"Mad-Eye," she replied. Her voice cracked a little. The other eye swivelled and fixed itself on her face.

"Everything all right?" he asked gruffly.

"No... yes. I- just wanted a quieter place to stand."

"Hmm." She didn't bother asking if he minded; if he did, he'd have said something already. "What do you think of Robards?"

"I like him," she said, grateful for a topic that didn't make her want to cry.

"Thought you might," Moody said, looking pleased.

"What do you think of the Tonks girl?"

"She'll do," he said.

Marlene raised an eyebrow. "You like her that much?"

Mad-Eye glanced at Tonks again and shrugged.

* * *

"So what did we miss this morning?" Tonks asked, glancing over to where McKinnon was standing with Moody. She looked more relaxed with him than she had with them, so Tonks supposed she was all right, though she did wish she knew what they'd done wrong. Perhaps she'd ask Moody about it later.

"Well, we duelled," Ben said. "That was fun. The rest was boring."

"I thought it was important," Melvin said shyly, glancing at Tonks and then at Florence. "Auror Scrimgeour and Madam Bones talked to us about our responsibilities as Aurors and things we can and can't do."

"Like what?" Florence asked, pushing her dark hair out of her face.

"Well, we can't make an arrest without another Auror there until we're second years," Melvin said, squinting as he tried to remember. "There's a list of spells and curses that we'll be expelled from the Program for using without special permission. If we break the law we'll be punished more severely than any other witch or wizard and... er... I've forgotten something..." He trailed off, frowning.

"We can't break wands," Ben supplied.

"That's right!" Melvin said, snapping his fingers. Tonks and Florence exchanged bewildered looks. "If it's life or death they'll make an exception, of course - they do with most things - but otherwise you have to hold a trial and everything."

"So snapping wands is just a threat?" Florence asked, looking amazed.

"Pretty effective one," Tonks muttered. "I-"

"Quiet down!" Scrimgeour called from the front of the room. "This afternoon, you will learn how to set up and use one of the most useful objects you will ever encounter in your career as an Auror." Tonks straightened immediately, curious to see what the object was.

She couldn't see past Ben's shoulder and so made her legs grow a few inches. Florence was short - even when compared to Tonks' normal height - and scowled as she went shooting up. Melvin was short too - probably fairly close to Tonks in height - and just looked at her wonderingly.

Scrimgeour passed a cloth bag to one of the Aurors. It clinked quietly, as if there were galleons inside. Florence seemed to hear it too and caught Tonks' eye.

"What is it?"

"Dunno; it's in a bag," she muttered back.

The Auror walked through the crowd, offering the bag to each of the trainees in turn. "Take one," he said when he reached Tonks. She reached in and fished out a round, shiny object. For a moment she thought it might actually be a galleon, but it was too heavy, much too thick, and the last galleon Tonks had seen, certainly hadn't had a chain connected to it.

She turned it over in her hands. It was gold, like a galleon, but it also had a large black 'M' inlaid in its face, the legs of which were balanced on a pair of scales. A wand ran through the middle, and sparks from its tip - coloured silver and bronze - littered the rest of the gold surface. Around the edge were the words _FORTITUDE, VIRTUS, DETERMINATIO ET INTELLIGENTIA._

"Does anyone know Latin?" Tonks whispered.

Ben, who had his - whatever it was - clenched in his hand and was rattling it by his ear, shook his head. Florence was holding hers up to her eye and squinting at it and didn't appear to hear Tonks. Melvin, who was cradling his close to his chest, as if he was afraid someone might take it, or that he might drop it, shook his head.

"Has anyone missed out?" Scrimgeour asked. There was silence. He cleared his throat importantly. "Courage, virtue, determination and intelligence," he said in a loud, clear voice. "That is the Auror's code. Forget it, and you will not last long in this field of work. So that you do _not_ forget it, you will be required to say these words each time you wish to use the object in your hand." Scrimgeour looked around at them all. "Well, go ahead."

Tonks had a look around and met the puzzled eyes of several other trainees. She muttered the words and watched in amazement as two hinges grew out of one edge and a line split the seamless side. It opened with a click and she took a brief glance at it before her attention was called elsewhere.

"Courage, virtue, determination and intelligence," Florence murmured, though hers was already open. "Like the four Houses. Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Slytherin and Ravenclaw."

"Slytherins are determined?" Ben asked derisively. "More like sneaky and self-important."

"That isn't true," Melvin said softly.

"They're rotten, all of them," Ben said.

"Hardly," Tonks scoffed. "My Mum's a Slytherin and so's one of my best friends!"

Ben looked scandalised. "You're kidding!"

"No," Tonks said, frowning.

"You do know they're evil, don't you?" Ben asked. "Every witch or wizard who went dark has been in Slytherin."

"That's not true!" Florence snapped. "People can be dark if they weren't a Slytherin first!"

"Name one," Ben said, glowering at her. Florence opened her mouth to say something but didn't seem able to say it. Ben towered over her with a smug smile. Tonks stuffed her object into her pocket so she wouldn't break it. Melvin took a step forward, as if to protect Florence, but Tonks beat him to it, hitting Ben's shoulder. Hard. He looked down at her, a little surprised.

"Sirius Black, that's who," she barked. "He was in Gryffindor and he's probably the worst of them all, if you don't include You-Know-Who!" _Or Lucius Malfoy. _"So don't you tell me it's only Slytherins who've-"

"So now you're saying Gryffindors are evil?" Ben had his wand out now, and was pointing it at Tonks.

She whipped out her own. "Don't be thick," she growled. "I only said-"

"And Sirius Black wasn't even in Gryffindor! He was a Slytherin! Everyone knows that!"

"Sirius was _not_ a Slytherin!" Tonks bellowed, vaguely aware that they were drawing attention from other trainees and the Aurors now. She didn't particularly care. "Everyone assumes he was because they, like you, are too bigoted to look past prejudices!"

"So Gryffindors are bigots now?!" Ben roared.

"No!" Tonks shouted. "_You're_ a bigot!"

"How _dare_ yo-"

"ENOUGH!" Tonks jumped. Moody, Scrimgeour and Ben's mentor Shacklebolt were standing beside them. Moody grabbed the back of Tonks' robes and hauled her - rather roughly - to the back of the room. She tripped once, and lost her footing but Moody kept moving. A quick glance back showed her that Ben was trailing behind Shacklebolt, also headed over. Scrimgeour was addressing the other trainees. Florence, Melvin and even McKinnon were all watching her with worried expressions.

"Bow to your opponent," Moody told her.

"Bo- What?" Tonks asked, turning to look at him. Moody pushed her head down and she bowed, but managed to glance up and see Ben was doing the same. Moody released her and stepped back. There was no one immediately around Ben either.

"When you're ready," Scrimgeour said.

"When we're ready what- Oi!" Tonks said, dodging a jet of yellow light.

"Duel!" Moody barked at her.

"_Expelliarmus!"_ Ben shouted.

Tonks' wand few out of her hand but she reached for it and caught it (though her arm had grown several inches to make that possible).

"_Parva Digitum!"_ she said firmly.

There were no visible changes to Ben's appearance, of course, but the spell didn't take long to make its effects obvious; a peculiar expression crossed Ben's face – Tonks imagined having a body part shrink suddenly was rather disconcerting if one wasn't used to it – and he swayed where he was standing. He took a step, perhaps trying to steady himself, and then tumbled to the ground. It was, after all, rather difficult to balance without one's big toes.

He glowered at her from the ground while everyone was still trying to work out exactly what she'd done, though she thought Moody knew, because of his eye.

"_Incarcerous._"

Ben seemed to snap out of his daze. "_Protego Ignis_!" A fiery shield sprang up in front of him and burned the ropes before they could touch him. He didn't try to stand. That was clever of him, and stupid at the same time. Dad had told Tonks once that – whether it be in a duel, a wrestle or in an argument – she should never fight from the ground. "Trying to hit me while I'm down?" Ben panted. "You're just as slimy as your Slytherin pals. _Limus Velo!_"

Tonks couldn't help shrieking as she was doused from head to toe in a thick layer of green slime. It didn't taste like anything in particular, but she didn't like it in her mouth, and while it didn't actually sting her eyes, she didn't want it in them either.

She spat some out of her mouth and said, "_Aguamenti!_" Ben already had a Shield Charm up but she wasn't aiming for him. She was focused on rinsing herself because she'd much rather be wet than slimy. "_Tussio!" _

Ben doubled over, coughing uncontrollably for a few moments, but he flicked his wand once, obviously doing a non-verbal counter charm and then flicked his wand again. Tonks stepped out of the way and tripped on her own feet. Ben hesitated, apparently considering his options, and then said, _"Suffocio!"_

At almost the same time, Tonks leapt to her feet and said, "_Expelliarmus!"_ No sooner than she'd got the words out, an invisible hand clasped around her throat and began to squeeze. She tried to pry it off, but nothing was there. Horrified, she looked at Ben, who'd been knocked onto his back, Disarmed, and around at the other Aurors, who were talking amongst themselves; well, shouting, actually, in Moody's case, but she couldn't hear what about, only see him throwing his hands in the air.

_Finite Incantatem_, she thought shakily, pointing her wand at herself. It did nothing. Desperate, she thought of the hardest type of skin she could grow, and concentrated on giving herself dragon scales that might be more resistant to the squeezing. That worked a little better. If it hadn't, she might have had to give herself gills and conjure a bucket of water. She was able to take a tentative breath. "_Finite Incantatem_," she tried again, verbally this time. The pressure eased entirely and she gasped in a lungful of air.

When she was certain the effects of the spell were gone, she changed her neck back to skin and reversed the spell on Ben's toes. Moody limped over.

"Well done," he said quietly.

"Trainee Tonks, if you'd join us over here, please." She and Moody joined Scrimgeour, Shacklebolt and Ben, who was looking sulky, but standing at least. "Now," Scrimgeour said in clipped tones, "that you've exercised some of your volatility, perhaps you will be able to calmly explain the problem. Trainee Tonks, as the winner, you've won the right to speak first."

Tonks opened her mouth and abruptly changed her mind. She wasn't a first year who went running to her Head of House the moment she had a problem. Hufflepuffs – and she was a Hufflepuff, and proud of it – didn't tell on people unless it was absolutely necessary. This wasn't. She could shout some sense into Ben later, without humiliating him more than losing the duel had done.

"Ben can go first," she said. The Aurors raised their eyebrows, almost in unison, and Ben ploughed right into the silence.

"_She_," he said, in a deeply accusing tone, "called Gryffindors evil, lied about Sirius Black and then called me a bigot!"

Tonks folded her arms and gave him the withering look that she'd seen McGonagall use. Ben flinched and Tonks thought that was probably because she'd adopted McGonagall's nose, lips and eyes when making that face.

"You did these things?" Scrimgeour asked, turning his yellow eyes on her. She met them curiously, wondering if she would be able to make her own look that way, and then realised they were waiting for an answer.

"I did call him a bigot," she said, shrugging.

"Not the others?"

"Nope," she said, popping the 'p'. "I told him that Slytherins _weren't_ evil-"

"Are so," Ben muttered.

"-not all of them, anyway," she continued, as if she hadn't been interrupted. "And I also told him that Sirius Black was in Gryffindor when he was at school, to prove my point that not all Gryffindors are _good_."

"Sirius Black was not-" Ben started.

"Sirius Black was a Gryffindor, lad," Moody said, sounding very tired all of a sudden.

"Are you sure?" Ben asked, looking doubtful.

"I trained him," Moody grunted. "Him and James Potter. Gryffindors, the both of them."

Ben looked stricken. "But-but Slytherin-"

"You have a problem with Slytherin?" Scrimgeour asked, in a very quiet voice. Tonks would have bet her place in the Program that he had been one himself and had to choke back a laugh.

"Yes, I do," Ben said, his eyes challenging.

"Come with me," Scrimgeour said coolly. He limped away. "Shacklebolt!" Shacklebolt gestured for Ben to follow and strode after the Head Auror.

"How's the throat?" Moody asked.

"You knew?" Tonks demanded. "I could have died!"

"Fainted. The spell wears off when the target passes out, or when a verbal counter charm is spoken." That, Tonks had to admit, was clever; how was someone supposed to _speak_ a counter charm when the spell robbed them of air? "Scrimgeour wanted to see what you'd do."

"Why?"

"Because when a trainee's under pressure, you get a very good idea of their character. Do they panic? Do they give up? Do they fight it? Scrimgeour likes to know these things."

Tonks sighed. "Did I pass?"

"No," Moody said. Tonks opened her mouth to say something but he beat her to it. "You didn't fail either." He winked and limped away, leaving her standing there, trying to work out what the hell he'd just said. Florence and Melvin descended on her a moment later and several of the other trainees approached to congratulate her.

"Thanks," she muttered, hoping they'd leave her alone. And they did, eventually, when Auror Blackburn called everyone's attention back to the little objects.

Tonks pulled hers out of her pocket. It was still open and she had a chance to have a proper look this time. A thin, round panel stood vertically out of the middle. On each side was a normal clock face. Inside that, however, were two semi-circles. One ran along the top inside half, and had numbers from zero to one-hundred and eighty, and the other ran along the bottom inside half and had the numbers zero to sixty.

There were fourteen hands in total, on each side; two were a bright coppery colour and seemed to be for the watch part. Eight of the other hands were split into four different colours, with there being two of each of bronze, black, silver and gold. The remaining four hands were these colours, but significantly smaller than the others.

The inside of the two halves of the object rested perpendicularly to the clock-thing and were just polished gold with an indent that would enclose the clock faces when the object closed.

"What is it?" Tonks asked Florence, who shrugged and shook hers.

"Firstly," Blackburn called, "this is a Secure Communication and Identification Device with Coordinate Clock, otherwise known as the S.C.I.D.C.C., or, the Sidekick. Your mentor will teach you how to add details to the outside of the Sidekick. Should a witch or wizard ask you for identification, that is what you will show them.

"This," he said, lifting his own open Sidekick and pointing to the clock faces, "is the Coordinate Clock. One side of it will show the time at your current location, as well as your geographical position. Bronze is East, black is West, silver is North and gold is South. They show you your position in degrees with the top set of numbers, and in minutes on the bottom set of numbers. Seconds are shown by the smaller hand of that colour, also on the bottom set of numbers."

Auror Finch stepped up. "The other side of the Coordinate Clock is for your partner, or, in your case, your mentor. Most of the time, it will show where your mentor is - don't bother looking now; they haven't been set up yet-" Dale blushed, her cheeks turning the same colour as the pink robes she wore. "- _but_ it can also be used to arrange meetings. If they need you at a certain place, at a certain time, the clock hands will point at the meeting time and the other hands will show the place. You can also move yours to call them somewhere."

Another Auror – Proudfoot, Tonks thought it was – replaced Finch. "The inside of the device – not the Coordinate Clock – are not decorated yet. We will teach you a spell in a moment that will enable you to leave your own symbol on another Sidekick. When the owner of the other Sidekick states the password – chosen by you – they will be able to talk to you through the device."

_I wonder if these are based on telephones..._ Tonks mused. Several others seemed to be thinking the same thing; she caught the word several times and then a hand shot into the air. Tonks thought it was Brown. "These aren't based on muggle telephones, are they?"

"Every time," Finch muttered and passed another witch a galleon.

"They act similarly, but were not designed with telephones in mind," Proudfoot said. Everyone waited. He sighed. "They are based on a pair of mirrors that two former Aurors used to communicate during the war." Proudfoot's eyes flicked to Moody, who nodded sharply. Tonks wondered what that was about.

"Now, if you'll lift your wand like this," an Auror with an eyepatch – Tonks thought her name might have been McDuff – said, stepping forward, "and say _Imprima_..."

* * *

"No, James, I didn't- Reg- Lily, please-"

"Wake up," Harry muttered, shaking Padfoot. "Padfoot, _please_ wake up."

"James, no... It wasn't me, I couldn't-"

"Harry?!"

_Thank Merlin!_ Harry ran out onto the landing and stuck his head over the banister. "Up here!" he called. He caught a glimpse of Moony's pale face and then there were footsteps on the stairs. A few seconds later, Moony appeared, looking worried and out of breath.

"Where is he?" he asked, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder.

"In here." Moony followed him into the bedroom and then hurried over to the bed.

"Remus," Padfoot said restlessly. Harry and Moony both started. "Remus, it wasn't me, it was Peter... Moony, no, no! Please! James! James, I'm sorry-"

Moony shook himself, pulled out his wand and said, quite firmly, "_Rennervate_."

Padfoot gasped and his eyes flew open. Harry and Moony immediately set about calming him down; yes, he was in Harry's room, no, he was not allowed to get up and Moony would hex him if he tried, yes, he _did_ have to eat the Chocolate Frog Harry had retrieved from his bedside table, even if he didn't want to. The card was Dumbledore, which made Padfoot scowl and start muttering about Snape again.

"Snape?" Moony asked, puzzled. "What's he got to do with anything?"

"Snape was here," Harry said.

"Git," Padfoot muttered, sinking back into Harry's pillows.

"He- Snape was here?!" Moony repeated, tossing another Chocolate Frog at Padfoot. "Eat that." Padfoot scowled but that was the only resistance he offered. "Why the hell was Snape here?"

Harry sighed and began to explain the night's events as best he could. He left out everything that had happened when he and Snape were at Hogwarts. He wasn't sure how much of that was real, and how much of it he'd dreamed; he was fairly confident that Padfoot hadn't tried to kill Snape, but that was a strange thing to make up. Harry had decided not to think about it.

Padfoot added comments when Harry forgot something, but mostly he stayed quiet and ate his chocolate. By the time Harry had finished talking, Padfoot had fallen asleep again, but seemed rather more peaceful than he had been before.

"I wish I could have seen Snape's face," Moony whispered, gesturing for Harry to follow.

"It was funny," Harry admitted. He glanced at Padfoot. "Will he-"

"He'll be perfectly fine. He just needs to rest." Harry trailed out of the room after Moony. "Do you have any Pepper-Up Potions on hand?"

"For Padfoot?"

"For me. I've got a terrible headache." Moony paused. "Pepper-Up Potion probably isn't a bad idea for Sirius either, though, if we can find some. Where does Sirius keep the medical potions?"

"Er..."

Moony looked mildly amused. "Very helpful, Harry, thank you." Harry flushed. "Where does he keep Potions ingredients, then? It's probably quicker to brew some than waste time looking for it."

"In the training room," Harry said. "There's a cauldron there too."

"After you," Moony said, gesturing to the stairs.

* * *

By seven o'clock that evening, Kreacher was up and about again, though he still complained about a headache. He could be heard skulking around, cursing Snape under his breath with a loathing formerly reserved for Padfoot.

Padfoot - who'd also woken - encouraged this behaviour the moment he became aware of it. He was rather weak - Moony said it was a Dementor's Draught relapse brought about by a lack of sleep and the stress of Snape's visit - but in reasonably good spirits.

"You aren't pale, at least," Moony commented. Padfoot - who was red-faced from a Pepper-Up Potion - gave him a flat look. The effect was somewhat ruined by the steam billowing out of his ears.

"Celery for Master Sirius?" Kreacher asked.

"No, thank you, Kreacher," Padfoot said, picking at his bread roll.

"Celery for Master Harry?"

"No-" Both Moony and Padfoot gave Harry warning looks. "Er... I mean, yes, thanks."

"None for me, thank you, Kreacher," Moony said before Kreacher could ask. "Although, if you've got more of that shepherd's pie..." Kreacher bowed and scurried back to the bench.

"Shameless," Padfoot said, shaking his head.

"You're going to tell me off for having a third helping when you and Harry have both already had one?"

Padfoot pretended not to hear and Moony seemed to decide arguing would involve more effort than it was worth. The kitchen was quiet except for the sounds of Kreacher loading another plate for Moony, and the occasional crunch of Harry's celery; at some point in the near future, he was going to need to learn the spell Padfoot used to make things disappear.

Vegetables like carrot, potato, peas and pumpkin he quite liked, but celery, broccoli and Brussels sprouts were things he'd rather not eat if given the option.

He'd never had a problem with vegetables at the Dursleys, but that was because they hadn't eaten vegetables very often - Uncle Vernon didn't like 'rabbit food' - and because Harry had been so hungry that he hadn't cared what he was eating. Things were different now.

"Oi," Padfoot said hoarsely, pointing a finger at Harry. Harry felt his cheeks heat up and stopped trying to hide his celery under his potato skins.

Moony chuckled. "At least he's creative."

"What do you mean?" Padfoot asked.

Moony was very obviously fighting a smile. "Olives," he said simply.

Padfoot grimaced. "Ah."

"Olives?" Harry asked.

"You've never had the dubious pleasure of attending a pureblood function," Padfoot sighed. "Birthdays are usually all right - as far as food goes, anyway; the company's still horrible - but the dinner parties, which people have for no reason other than to show off and gossip about the families that couldn't make it, always serve the _worst _food."

"It's all expensive, exotic stuff." Padfoot wrinkled his nose. "Changes each time, usually, but there were always - at least when I was growing up – olives. " He shuddered.

"Olives stuffed with fairy eggs. They were foul. Doesn't matter how talented the house elves were, they always tasted terrible. And they weren't even finger foods; they were always put down in front of you, and you were expected to eat them. Most house elves wouldn't serve you dinner until your plate was empty."

"And how did you avoid eating them?" Moony pressed, wearing a smile that Harry presumed meant he already knew.

"Threw them at whoever was bothering me most at the time," Padfoot said, winking at Harry. "Then, in third year - because I knew a bit more magic - I learnt how to make them explode... They taste foul, but they look good splattered on Slytherins." He grinned.

"And, what's even better is that Mum usually caught me and sent me to bed early for bad behaviour." He looked oddly reminiscent. "Reg used to sneak me food afterwards, so I didn't go hungry, and that of course, provided an incentive to do the same thing next time." He turned to Harry, grinning again. "Now, eat your vegetables."

Harry hesitated, though only for a second, and threw a piece at him. It bounced off Padfoot's nose and landed on the table in front of him. Padfoot stared at it in disbelief - as if unable to believe what Harry had just done - and then burst out laughing.

Harry grinned at Moony, who sighed and accepted his pie from Kreacher. Padfoot settled shortly after and said nothing more about the celery, which remained mostly untouched on Harry's plate.

Harry helped Kreacher with the dishes while Moony made Padfoot drink more Pepper-Up Potion and several mugs of hot chocolate and then put him to bed.

"Dishes are not for the Master to be doing," Kreacher said afterward, as he and Harry trooped upstairs for bed. "Mistress never made Kreacher's Masters do the housework-"

Harry shrugged. "How are you feeling? And I want you to tell the truth."

Kreacher pressed a trembling hand to his head. "Kreacher feels well enough to fulfil his duties to the House of Black."

"I asked how you _feel, _not what you think you can do.Are you sore? Tired?"

Kreacher looked both thoughtful and unnerved. Harry wondered if that was the first time he'd ever been asked that.

"Both," he said finally, in his bullfrog's voice. "But Kreacher is-"

"Why don't you go to bed?" Harry suggested. Gratitude flashed in Kreacher's large eyes but it was quickly smothered.

"Kreacher mustn't," he said reluctantly. "Such an act would be worthy of clothes, oh yes. What would Mistress say if she knew Kreacher had gone to bed before Kreacher's Masters-"

"Kreacher," Harry said firmly. "Go to bed." Kreacher visibly struggled with the order. It was the first one he'd tried to resist for quite a while. "Padfoot's already in bed," Harry continued, trying to be persuasive. "And I'm heading there now."

"The Masters' guest is still about," Kreacher said, glancing at the library door as they passed it, as if Moony might suddenly appear.

"That's fine," Harry said, shrugging again. "Moony can do what he wants." Kreacher wrung his hands in his tea-towel. They continued up the last two staircases in silence. "Go on, Kreacher," Harry said, nodding at the cupboard.

Before Kreacher could answer, Moony emerged from Padfoot's room. He glanced at the pair of them, his eyes lingering on Kreacher before they flicked back to Harry.

"Do you mind if I sleep on the couch?"

"Er... no, that's fine," Harry said. "You're staying?"

"Kreacher's clearly not back to his usual self yet," Moony said, giving the elf a kind smile. "He's not in any condition to be up in the middle of the night if something goes wrong."

Kreacher began to protest, but Harry cut him off. "Like what? Are you expecting something to happen?"

"I bloody hope not," Padfoot called from the next room.

"Not at all," Moony said easily. "But none of us expected anything to go wrong today, did we?"

"You said Kreacher's not up to it," Harry said slowly. Kreacher made an indignant noise next to him. "Are _you_? You didn't get any sleep last night and you had your transformation-"

"I got three hours of sleep," Moony replied with another smile. "And I'm well used to transforming by now. I've had twenty-five years of practice."

"Kreacher will make Mister- Mister- Mister's-" Kreacher faltered, obviously unsure what to address Moony by.

"Remus is fine, Kreacher."

"Mister Remus. Kreacher will make Mister Remus' bed, and fetch towels-"

"That won't be necessary, thank you, Kreacher," Moony said gently, but firmly. "Harry can show me where everything is." Kreacher gave them one last, pitiful look and then slouched into his cupboard, muttering about Snape affecting his ability to serve.

"You can have one of the spare bedrooms," Harry said, leading the way back down the stairs. "That one," he said, pointing at the one furthest from the stairs, "needs new bedding, but you can have either of these."

Moony refused to sleep in Padfoot's parents' old room and unwillingly ("You don't have to do this, Harry, the couch would be fine...") selected the third bedroom. He pulled his shoes off and sat down at the end of the bed. Harry waited in the doorway, wondering if he'd protest any more.

Instead, Moony said, "If you need anything, I'm right here."

"Thanks," Harry said, and although he was touched by the offer, he was very much hoping he wouldn't have to take Moony up on it.

"Good night," Moony said, flopping back onto the mattress.

Harry wished him a good night and headed back up to his own room.


	24. Bad Dreams

Harry woke up in a bad mood. He'd spent the night tossing and turning, dreaming that that Padfoot really _was _a werewolf and that he'd tried to eat Snape while Moony, and to his even greater horror, James – who'd looked a lot like he usually did in the mirror – laughed cruelly. All the while, Snape's voice had whispered, _Black is a monster. He was capable of murder at the age of sixteen and your precious father was no better._

He'd spent the early hours of the morning sitting cross legged in bed – afraid to go back to sleep – with Hedwig perched on his knee, and climbed out of bed the moment he heard Kreacher moving across the landing.

Breakfast was a cheerful affair and Harry found his mood improving with each passing minute; Kreacher, having rested well the night before, cooked enough food to serve ten Dudleys. Padfoot's health seemed to have improved dramtically overnight – though that worried Harry more than it comforted him – but Kreacher still shoved a steaming mug into his hand the moment he came downstairs.

"Slow news day," Padfoot commented, glancing at the _Prophet_. "Some git's made the front page for winning some _Witch Weekly_ award."

"It's not Gilderoy Lockhart again?" Moony asked, accepting a cup of tea from Kreacher.

"Yeah, why?" Padfoot said. "Do you know him?"

"Yes, and so do you, Sirius. He was in Hufflpuff, remember? Our year."

"He was?" Padfoot asked blankly. Harry reached for the butter and caught a glimpse of the handsome wizard on the front of the paper. Padfoot snapped his fingers. "He's the one who fawned over Slughorn, isn't he? Thank Merlin he didn't make it to N.E.W.T. level or I would've had to drop the subject." Moony smiled and added sugar to his tea. "I'm thinking of the right one, aren't I?"

"How many other people do you know that fawned over Slughorn?" Moony asked wryly.

"Well, Lily," Padfoot said. Harry's head snapped up. "Except she didn't care about him much, it was more that he liked _her_-"

"'Didn't care about him much?'" Moony repeated, looking stunned. "This is _Lily_ we're talking about here-"

"She liked him," Padfoot said, flapping a hand, "but she didn't like the attention, so they negated each other. Who else liked Slughorn...?"

"Snape?" Moony suggested. Harry glowered at him, because the name had sent his almost-forgotten dream rushing back to the forefront of his mind. Padfoot growled, sounding rather like his Animagus self.

"Bloody Snivellus," Padfoot muttered, setting his mug down rather harder than was necessary. Kreacher heard the name and started smashing eggs against the side of the frying pan with vigor.

"Language, Sirius," Moony said, glancing in Harry's direction.

"He doesn't like the git either," Padfoot said dismissively. Harry snagged another piece of toast from the plate in the middle of the table and stood.

"Thanks for breakfast, Kreacher," he said, and hurried up the stairs and out of the kitchen.

Padfoot came up half an hour later – Moony had gone to meet with Padfoot's cousin's daughter – and peered into Harry's room. Harry was trying to see how high he could stack the Exploding Snap cards Dumbledore had given him. It wasn't exactly calming, but the imminent danger of being burned was a pretty good distraction.

"Are you all right, kiddo?" Padfoot asked, leaning against the doorframe.

"Yeah, fine," Harry said, carefully leaning two cards against each other. "Why?"

"You left rather abruptly," Padfoot said. Harry could feel the grey stare but didn't look up to meet it; it was easier to pretend to be distracted. The intensity of it was a little unnerving, though, and Harry had a sudden suspicion he was about to find out what had been bothering his godfather for the past few days – aside from the obvious Dementor's Draught, of course.

"Yeah," Harry said, "erm... bathroom."

Padfoot's expression cleared immediately. Harry felt a twinge of guilt but forced it away. Padfoot sniffed curiously. Harry winced and deliberately knocked over his tower, hoping the smoke would mask his scent. As he'd hoped, Padfoot wrinkled his nose and sneezed. Harry brushed soot off his hands and collected the reforming cards. Padfoot didn't need to know he'd had a stupid dream. _Snape was probably lying anyway. I bet he'd love the idea of me worrying about this._

Padfoot seemed to think for a moment and then, to Harry's surprise, said, "Can I play?"

"Well, yeah," Harry said, blinking.

Padfoot came in and sat down. They stared at each other for a few moments. "Er... What are we playing?"

Harry laughed. "Well, there's the game I played with Dumbledore, or-"

"The one with the Bertie Bott's?" Padfoot asked, grinning.

Harry nodded and set down the stack of cards. "I've got some in my-"

"_Accio_," Padfoot said, flicking his wand at the bedside table. "But don't tell Moony or Kreacher we had sweets so soon after breakfast." Harry nodded. There was a quiet banging noise from inside the drawer, as if the box of beans was trying to escape. A moment later, the drawer burst open with a bang and the beans shot toward them. Harry snagged them out of the air. Padfoot's eyebrows rose as Harry set the beans on the carpet between them.

"What?" Harry asked. Padfoot stared at him for a moment and shook his head.

"Nothing." Harry decided to drop the matter, since Padfoot had done the same for him before.

"You can start." Padfoot grinned and reached for a card. One glue flavoured bean and one cinnamon one later, Padfoot cleared his throat. Harry looked up expectantly.

"So," Padfoot said, not reaching for a card despite it being his turn.

_He's definitely about to say something important_, Harry thought.

"I was thinking-" Harry had to swallow the smart comment he would usually have made because Padfoot didn't look to be in the mood. "-that I might go out this afternoon, and you wouldn't be able to come-"

"Where are you going?" Harry asked, seizing the topic change with interest.

"It's been two weeks since the cave..." Padfoot said, still looking rather distant.

"Did you find something about Horcruxes?" Harry asked warily.

"No." Padfoot frowned unhappily. "None of the books from Reg's room had anything in them, so I'm going through the rest of the library now." Harry wasn't sure what to say to that, so he didn't say anything. "This is about... Marlene."

"What about her?" Harry asked curiously.

Padfoot took a deep breath and then words came rushing out. "It's been two weeks and I think Marlene has probably calmed down by now, so I thought I might go and talk to her again." Already, Padfoot looked as though he'd thrown off a large burden. Harry was pleased, and jealous at the same time, even though Padfoot had been worrying for a few days and Harry had only had a morning.

"Right," Harry said. "So?"

"So this is something that really needs to be done. She should have calmed down a bit, but if I leave it much longer, it'll be a much harder job than it needs to."

"And?" Harry asked, still not sure what the problem was.

"And I have to go alone. You can't come."

Harry frowned at him. "Why not?"

"If it came to spells – which, with Marlene is always a possibility," Padfoot said with a grimace, "then it could set the Trace off and bring the entire D.M.L.E. barging in. That's the last thing we need, particularly since they know I own a house in the area."

Harry could see a gaping flaw in that logic and didn't hesitate to point it out: "But then Marlene will know, won't she? Where to find us, I mean."

"She might," Padfoot said. "But hopefully she believes me enough that she won't go running off to call the Aurors. I can explain the rest of it to her and then it won't matter that she knows. Even then, she won't be able to find us in here until you tell her the Secret."

"Right," Harry muttered.

"I've invited Moony back after he's done with Nymphadora and he thinks he'll be back in the early afternoon. He can watch you while I go out-"

"Watch me?"

"Well, yeah," Padfoot said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I sort of thought that after Snape taking you, you might not want to be here by yourself-"

"No, I want to," Harry said. Padfoot's eyebrows arched. "I mean, Snape's not likely to come back, is he? And Kreacher's here."

Padfoot's face darkened. "Yes, because that worked so well last time."

"It'll be fine," Harry hedged. "You should talk to her. If it works out, maybe she could – I dunno - come to dinner or something."

Padfoot's eyes brightened again. "You're sure you don't mind?"

"Not at all," Harry said honestly, because right now, he thought he needed some time alone and while Kreacher was easy enough to keep busy, Padfoot was less so; he'd give Harry time alone if he asked for it, but then he'd want to know why and Harry couldn't explain that, not yet. "You should go."

Padfoot nodded seriously and then grinned, reaching for a card. "Why don't we finish the game first, though?"

* * *

"Would you like a drink?" Remus asked as they claimed his usual table in the corner.

Nymphadora frowned at him and took the seat opposite. "You drink on duty?"

"I was going to suggest a butterbeer," he said with a wry smile.

"Oh." She flushed. "Well, I suppose if you're having one..."

She stuck a hand into her pocket but Remus shook his head. "I'll buy," he said.

"I hate owing people," she muttered. "It's not like I can't afford it; even trainees get six hundred galleons a month-"

"I think I should become an Auror," Remus muttered, though he knew perfectly well that they'd never take him. Nymphadora laughed and pulled out three sickles. Remus' heart sank as he stared at the little silver coins. "Are you certain?" he asked weakly. "I'd much rather pay than take your money."

"I don't like charity," she said with a grin, pushing the coins into his hand.

_Oww, _Remus thought, forcing a smile onto his face. _Oww, bloody oww! _Remus took the money and went to order, all but throwing the coins at Tom when he got there.

"Dittany?" Remus asked between clenched teeth. Tom vanished beneath the counter for a moment and then popped up and pressed the bottle into Remus' good hand. He poured it over the burn, which smoked and vanished. "Thank you," he said, passing the bottle back.

Tom gave him a gummy smile and added something to the little piece of parchment he kept on how much he owed Remus; Remus tended to pay in galleons and since Tom knew about his condition, Tom counted that as advanced payment for the thing he ordered. He still had several 'free' drinks on his account. They chatted while Tom filled two mugs and Tom ribbed him about showing up with a girl, much to Remus' embarrassment.

"It isn't like that," he said firmly, though his face felt rather hot. "She's just a friend." And then, because he wasn't even sure that they were friends, added, "Colleague."

The mention of colleagues turned the conversation to work and Remus wasn't about to start getting into that with Tom – fond as he was of the old barman – so he deftly turned the conversation back on Tom and how business was. Tom talked cheerfully and passed the mugs over the counter. It was with some relief that Remus headed back to the table.

"Are you friends?" Nymphadora asked as he sat down again.

"I worked here for a few years," Remus said, passing her butterbeer over. "Tom was friends with my father, arranged my first job."

"You didn't stay on?"

"I couldn't. The war was happening. I had things to do, and while Tom's neutral with everybody, most of the Death Eaters that came through knew perfectly well who I was."

Nymphadora – midway through taking a sip of her drink – choked. "They did? How?"

"I went to school with them," Remus said, knowing better than to mention the Order, or Peter. "And- Ah! This is one of ours." He lifted a hand to wave Debbie over. She approached slowly, her dark eyes never on one person or place for more than a few seconds. They landed on Nymphadora, narrowed, and then met Remus'. He nodded to show her it was okay.

"Remus," she said in a voice that wavered a little.

"Debbie," he said with a warm smile. "How are you?"

"I've been... better," she said, suddenly blinking away tears.

He reached out and squeezed her hand; she'd been bitten back in June and two nights ago had been her third full moon. The full moon was hard for any werewolf. For a middle-aged woman that had been a muggle until very recently, it was even harder. "Are you still able to work today?"

"Yes," she said, twisting her hands in the material of her dress. "Yes, thank you."

"Would you like a drink?"

"No, thank you," she said, tucking a strand of blond hair behind her ear. "Where would you like me to look today, Remus?"

"Just locally, thank you, Debbie. And don't overwork yourself." She bobbed her head in a nod and was gone.

"Are you related?" Nymphadora asked at once.

"No," Remus said, a little thrown by the question. "Why, do we look alike?"

"No," Nymphadora said, frowning. "There's just something about her..."

"We have a lot in common," Remus told her. "She went through some fairly difficult things a few months back. I've been helping her quite a bit." Nymphadora smiled. Her eyes scanned the pub, perhaps searching for more of the volunteers, when she stiffened. "Are you all right?" Remus asked, glancing around for whatever had upset her.

She didn't have a chance to answer that question but the answer presented itself fairly quickly because Lucius Malfoy swept over to the table, flanked by his wife. Remus could see the two Malfoy boys wrestling with something small and brown a few feet away.

"Lupin," Malfoy said, in what could only be described as a sneer. "Hard at work, I see." His eyes flicked to the butterbeer in front of Remus.

"Mr Malfoy," Nymphadora said, beaming.

"Tock," he said, far more politely. "You've been treated well enough?" His eyes flicked to Remus again.

"Call me Theodora," she said, still smiling. Narcissa gave her a sharp look and then turned to her children, who were still struggling. "And of course I have. Lupin here's been a perfect gentleman." Remus heard the subtle, mocking tone she adopted for those last two words and saw her roll her eyes. Malfoy seemed to like that, because he smirked and gave Remus a look that he would have interpreted to mean his time was limited even if he wasn't in on the plan. Gently, Nymphadora kicked Remus under the table, as if to apologise. He kicked her back.

"You're learning quickly, I trust?" he asked.

"Oh, yes, sir!" she said eagerly.

"He doesn't like the noise!" one of the Malfoy boys was saying to his mother. Remus had absolutely no idea which was which from appearance alone and didn't think Malfoy would appreciate it if he started sniffing his sons... _Now there's an idea_...he thought smothering a grin.

"I did tell you-"

"I promised Pansy I'd bring him," one of them said, cutting in snottily.

"And if Hydrus gets to bring Bosworth, I should get to bring Roquefort," the other – who had to be Draco, then – whined. Remus was amused; were they talking about _cheese?_

"Fine," she said mildly. "Bring them with you, but if I see as much as a _whisker_ between here and the cafe, I will not hesitate to send you back to the Manor. Am I understood?"

"Of course, Mother," Hydrus said, sweet and smiling all of a sudden, as he stowed something in his pocket. "He'll be good, I promise." Draco gave her an equally sweet smile and nodded, patting his own pocket.

Malfoy noticed Remus looking at the boys and his polite expression – Nymphadora was saying something about she and Remus going to Norfolk (Remus had to hide a bewildered look) – froze in place. He, unlike his children and wife, were close enough that Remus could smell- was it fear?

"Narcissa, dear," he said, holding up a pale hand to stop Nymphadora's chatter, "take the boys ahead, would you? Tell the Parkinsons I'll be along shortly."

_Of course,_ Remus thought scathingly. _Wouldn't want your children breathing the same air as me, would you, Malfoy? _It wasn't particularly surprising; Malfoy hadn't used the Scrimgeour excuse since June, yet they were still holding meetings through the bars of the Manor gates.

"Of course," Narcissa said calmly. "Miss Tock, Mr Lupin." She gave her sons an imploring look.

"Goodbye," Draco said in a polite, if frosty tone. Remus didn't miss the sulky look he gave his mother.

"Goodbye," Hydrus said in a sneering tone that he must have inherited from his father and then the three of them swept out with a swish of expensive robes.

Nymphadora and her uncle exchanged a few more words and then he sneered his goodbyes – just as his son had – and left the crowded pub.

"Idiot," Nymphadora said, her voice lifting an octave as it reverted back to normal. "Sorry about the perfect gentleman thing," she added hastily. "I just thought-"

"No offence taken," Remus assured her. "You're quite a good liar."

"Er... thanks?" she said, looking unsure whether to be pleased by that comment or insulted.

"You're welcome."

She decided to take it as a compliment. "What do you mean _quite_ good? I think I'm _very_ good."

Remus smiled at the teasing tone. "Modest too." She grinned at that. "Unfortunately, I've met better."

"Who?" she demanded at once.

"Why, me," he said, taking a sip of his drink.

"You, eh?" she asked, not looking certain about whether he was joking or not. "How-"

Before she had a chance to form any of the questions she obviously wanted to ask, three people approached the table. Remus would have bet the contents of his Gringotts vault – which, admittedly, was not much - that they'd been waiting for Malfoy to leave.

The first was a boy Remus had known for several years now. Matthew Rosier been bitten by Greyback near the end of the war to punish his father for marrying a muggle. As a new werewolf at the time he'd received his Hogwarts letter, Matt had decided not to go and so his parents had paid Remus to teach him instead, although Remus would happily have done it for free.

The second was Arabella Figg, the Squib woman who'd been a part of the Order and who'd lived next door to Lily's sister to keep an eye on Harry. As always, she smelled strongly of cats and mothballs but Remus found the scent oddly comforting, instead of repulsive.

The third was Dirk Cresswell, who, unlike Remus' other helpers, had no trouble finding work and held a position in the Goblin Liason Office. He'd conveniently not mentioned that to Malfoy when he volunteered and so Malfoy - who had no idea that Dirk was a actually a very capable wizard - had judged him on his muggleborn blood status and the fact that he could only work weekends and shunted him into the muggle search.

"Where's Deb?" Matt asked, glancing around. He had helped Remus a lot with integrating her into wizarding society and helping her cope with her lycanthropy, and was quite fond of the older woman.

"She's already been and left." Matt's face fell. "Everyone, this is Theodora Tock. She'll be working with us from now on."

"Wo- Hello," Nymphadora said, grinning at the others.

"Hi," Matt said, flopping down in the seat next to Remus'. He gave her a charming smile. "I'm Matt."

"Arabella Figg," Arabella said kindly.

"Dirk Cresswell."

"You work at the Ministry, don't you?" Nymphadora said, squinting at him.

Dirk smiled. "Yes, indeed, Miss Tock-"

"Theodora's fine," she said, far more naturally than she had with Malfoy.

Matt glanced at the pair of them and then leaned toward Remus. "How was yours, then?"

"The best one for a while," Remus said honestly. "Yours?"

"Boring," Matt said, scratching his arm, where Remus was sure he had a cut or bruise of some sort. "I had about an hour before the tranquilisers kicked in." Matt's mother Robin worked as a veterinarian and had access to animal medicines that Matt had been using effectively for several years.

Most werewolves wouldn't dream of using muggle remedies; they had to be injected, not ingested like a potion and they also prolonged the recovery period in the days after the moon. Even now, Matt looked a little bleary-eyed, but he'd always said – and firmly – that it was worth it.

"You're still using them, then?"

"We had to switch the type and up the dosage this time," he said, shrugging. "Bloody wolf was getting resistant." He scratched his arm again and yawned.

"May I?" Remus asked. Matt smiled gratefully and rolled up his sleeve. Remus vanished the dressing – Robin's work, he was certain - with a tap of his wand and healed the cut with another tap. Matt wasn't bad with Healing Charms but his mother liked to help and he let her, at least until his injuries bothered him too much.

"Cheers," Matt said. His gaze flicked to Nymphadora, who was being regaled with a tale about one of Arabella's many cats. "Is she...?" Remus shook his head. "Didn't think so," Matt said. "What's her story, then?"

"Ask her yourself," Remus told him, grinning.

"All right," Matt said, lounging back in his chair. "Oi, Tock." Nymphadora looked up curiously. "What's your story, then?"

"What?" she asked, but Dirk and Arabella both grinned.

"Well, my Mother's a muggle, Arabella here's a Squib and so's Debbie, who Remus said you met earlier, and Dirk's muggleborn. Remus here's just an all round nice person. What'd _you_ do to insult the mighty Malfoy?"

"Muggleborn," Nymphadora said, glancing at Remus who inclined his head slightly.

"I knew I liked you," Dirk said, smiling at her. She smiled back.

Dirk left shortly after to patrol the area around King's Cross Station but the other two ordered their own drinks and hung around, discussing Harry and Sirius for quite a while.

Eventually, Arabella left to catch a muggle bus that would take her around the city and let her keep an eye on things, and Matt slipped out to do rounds of the muggle street outside the Leaky Cauldron; one of Malfoy's men was already set up in the corner, nursing a firewhiskey, his eyes flicking between the door and the fireplace, watching, but not really taking anything in. He was a few years older than Remus and not the brightest galleon in Gringotts, but that didn't bother Remus at all anymore, now that he _didn't_ want Sirius caught.

"Where'll we go?" Nymphadora asked as they set off down Charing Cross Road.

"We'll just walk around the busier streets until lunchtime and then go back to the Leaky Cauldron and meet up with everyone again."

"And then what?"

"Have lunch," Remus said with a shrug. "Discuss anything suspicious and then designate duties and head out again."

"What if Debbie or Arabella find Sirius? They can't use magic to catch him, can they?"

"Neither are defenceless," Remus assured her. Debbie was much stronger than she looked and Arabella's handbag was heavy enough to knock someone as big as Hagrid out. "If they spot Sirius, they've got a piece of parchment that's charmed to fly straight to me. That's why I stay in the city. I can get the message quickly and Apparate straight there if I need to. They've also both got a Portkey that'll take them home if they need it."

"They're all going to be furious with me when I take your job, aren't they?" she sighed.

"No," he said honestly. Well, Matt and Debbie might be, but Remus intended to tell them enough about what was going on to keep them happy. "They aren't here for me. They're here to find Harry."

"If you're sure..."

"I'm positive," Remus said. "Now, mind you keep an eye out for any nine-year old boys." Nymphadora instantly glanced around, as if she thought Harry might wander out of one of the shops. They walked in silence for a moment, with Nymphadora staring suspiciously at all children between the ages of seven and twelve – Mad-Eye would be proud, Remus thought. "Nym- Theodora," he said. She glanced up at him. "You're scaring people."

Nymphadora jumped and gave a mother and her son an apologetic look. "Oops."

"Look," he encouraged, "but don't _stare_. Or glower. Or whatever it is you were doing."

"Right," she muttered, the roots of her hair flashing pink for a moment before she seemed to notice and controlled the urge. "So how've you been?"

"Since yesterday?" Remus asked, chuckling. She flushed but pressed on.

"Was your friend all right?"

"Fine," Remus said, "thank you." Before she could ask any more on the matter, he said, "What did you cover in the Program yesterday?"

"Sidekicks," she said, flashing something small and gold at him before it vanished into her pocket again. "They're brilliant. I can't remember what the acronym stands for but it's like a watch, a muggle phone and a compass all at once."

"You're enjoying it, then?"

"We haven't done much, yet. I think I've spent more time with you than I have in Ministry lessons, but yeah, so far it's pretty good."

"Have you got a good group?"

She shrugged. "A few gits, but there are always a few of those. Florence and Melvin are great and I thought Ben was all right but he turned out to be a bit of a prat-"

"What happened?"

"He started sprouting rubbish about Slytherins being evil and Gryffindors always being the good guys."

"No, not always," he sighed, thinking of Peter. "And I've known a few good Slytherins, but I've also known some rather horrible ones."

"So you think Slytherins are evil too?" Nymphadora asked, bristling. Her hair was still brown but had a distinct reddish tinge to it.

"When I was at school, I hated them," Remus said honestly. "Lucius Malfoy, Samuel Avery, Evan Rosier, Bellatrix Black – well Lestrange, now... can you blame me?" Nymphadora winced at that last name but her expression was set. "At the same time, I knew your mother. I knew Regulus Black and Emmeline Vance – brilliant people, the three of them."

"You know Professor Vance?" Remus blinked, having forgotten Emmeline would have taught Nymphadora. Then he nodded. "But you still think Slytherins are mostly-"

"I think that Slytherins are more likely to be drawn in by offers of power than others because they're ambitious and have good self-preservation instincts," Remus told her calmly. "If I was in school again, I can't say I would have treated the lot I was in with any better, but that doesn't mean I'm proud of it." She was still watching him with a mulish expression.

"I'd have thought you would understand where I'm coming from."

"I do. Very much so. You don't know me well enough yet to understand that I have a very deep, ingrained hate of prejudice. I have always done my best to trust people until I'm given a reason not to. Unfortunately, when I was in school, I was given those reasons and responded in kind."

"Why did you have to respond at all?" she asked. "Why not just leave them alone?" He smiled sadly. It was a nice solution, but a naive one.

"For the same reason you've just argued with me about Slytherins." He smiled to show her that he didn't view that as offensive, but she didn't smile back. "Belief," he told her. "Voldemort and his followers were spreading one set of beliefs. I had a different set, one that I believed in strongly enough to fight for, to die for even. One that I wouldn't abandon, even if it was dangerous – that's the Gryffindor in me, I suppose."

"I suppose so," she agreed, with a smile and something in her eyes that he eventually identified as awe. It made him uncomfortable. "And Moody shares your convictions, doesn't he?"

"Some," Remus agreed carefully. "Why?"

"You aren't an Auror, but you've had his training. It makes sense if you fought together." Remus nodded reluctantly.

"I can see why Mad-Eye chose you."

"McKinnon said that too," Nymphadora said, frowning. "I don't get it."

"You've got a good set of morals and you've got a brain that you _use_. If you've got those, you're set. With Mad-Eye at least." She flushed. "And did you say McKinnon?"

"Do you know-" She shook her head. "You must have, because she knew Sirius..."

"Marlene McKinnon?" Remus pressed.

"Her first name's Marlene?" Nymphadora asked.

"It is if we're talking about the same person," Remus said, his heart racing. "What does she look like? How did you meet her?"

"She's a trainee, too. And... she's tall," Nymphadora said thoughtfully. "Brown hair and eyes. She- Oh! Come with me!" She grabbed his arm and towed him into a side alley. She tripped on a beer bottle and grabbed Remus for support. "Oops," she said brightly. "Sorry! She looks like this," she said, changing before his eyes. The face before him did indeed belong to Marlene.

_Fuck, _was his first thought. His second was that he needed to get a message to Sirius immediately, just in case he got impatient and left before Remus returned. _I can't send a Patronus in case Nymphadora sees... or if Sirius is somewhere that people might see him... I'll have to go myself... skip lunch. _His eyes narrowed at the thought; his stomach was beginning to rumble now but they weren't due back at the Leaky Cauldron for another hour, yet. _Maybe I can have something at Grimmauld..._

Just then, Nymphadora pointed out a little, fluffy dog that a Muggle had coloured bubblegum pink. _Poor creature_, Remus thought, looking at it. It reminded him of something James and Sirius had once done to Mrs Norris, and also of something he and James had once done to Sirius when he fell asleep as Padfoot. _If Sirius could see it, he'd probably subject us all to a spiel on canine rights. Or laugh. _Remus eyed the dog again and chuckled. _Yes, he'd laugh_.

He and Nymphadora continued through London chatting amicably, although Remus found himself distracted with worry over Marlene and Sirius.

"Are you all right?" Nymphadora asked, her eyes scanning his face. He could smell concern wafting off of her. Remus hesitated, wondering whether he should make an excuse and leave, or whether he should just be patient and leave later, from the pub.

"I-" Her eyes widened and she shoved a hand into her pocket.

"It's burning," she said wonderingly. "Can I-"

"Go ahead," Remus said.

"Wait here," she told him, and went to stand a few yards away. She put the thing she'd dubbed a Sidekick to her mouth and whispered something Remus didn't catch and then Mad-Eye's voice boomed out of it.

"What attacked you in Brighton?" Several muggles paused to stare and Nymphadora hastily pressed the Sidekick to her ear the way Remus had seen muggles do with the small, portable telephones they carried.

"A post box," she said, looking bewildered.

"Are you alone?!" Nymphadora winced and held the thing at an arm's length. Remus was sure her ears were ringing.

"You know," she said, "for a man who's so obsessed with secrecy, you're awfully loud. Like a pureblood using a telephone," she muttered, catching Remus' eye. He grinned, remembering the story James had told him about using the telephone at the Evans' house the first time he stayed there.

"Answer the question!"

She jumped. "Lupin's here, but I am otherwise."

It was quiet and then Mad-Eye said, "There was a boy here."

"Erm... wonderful," Nymphadora said, looking bewildered again. "And that's important because-"

"Because the boy was looking for you," Mad-Eye's voice said.

"For me?"

"Williams, he said his name was. Do you know him?"

"Keith?" she asked incredulously. "Keith was at the Ministry? What did he want?"

"He wanted you! Weren't you listening?"

"What did he want with me?" Nymphadora asked patiently. Remus was impressed. He'd probably have shouted by now.

"To talk to you. Something about you not returning an owl last night," Mad-Eye said gruffly. Nymphadora grimaced.

"What did you tell him?"

"Told him whatever he wanted wasn't any of my business, and where you were wasn't any of his."

Nymphadora winced. "How'd that go?"

"He got stroppy," Mad-Eye said cheerfully. "So I sent him away."

"Away?"

"To look you." Mad-Eye's voice was quite... well, mad. He sounded as though he might start giggling at any moment.

"Where's he meeting us?" Nymphadora asked, resigned. She threw Remus an apologetic look. Remus shrugged to show he didn't mind, but took a step back. Talking to Mad-Eye was always delicate, but after a while, people learned to navigate their way through conversations. Nymphadora was still inexperienced, but Remus was not and knew she'd just made a mistake. What was coming would be loud.

"Meeting you!" Mad-Eye roared. Nymphadora squeaked and dropped her Sidekick. Several muggles looked over. "He's not meeting you anywhere!"

"But- you said-" Nymphadora looked at Remus for help. He just shrugged.

"He could be lying about knowing you! He might be a spy sent by Malfoy! The boy could be an impostor! Constant vigilance! None of my spells picked anything up, but Polyjuice can't be detected without a saliva sample and I couldn't risk him getting suspicious-"

Nymphadora groaned. "But I do know him. He's not a spy-"

"You can't know that! He could be tailing you as we speak. Are there any boys of your age nearby? Best get your wand out, just in case. Now, there's a Cloaking Charm that-" She covered her face with her hand and let out a slow breath that was a sigh and a growl mixed together and then snapped the device shut. Remus stared at her, amazed.

"I have to go," she said. "I'm really, really sorry about this, but-"

"It's fine," Remus said with a wry grin. "I know what he's like."

"I'm with Moody tomorrow and Mond-"

"I only do mornings on those days anyway," Remus said. "I'll owl you about Tuesday, if you'd like?"

"Yes, please," she said and then winced. "Uh oh," she said, glancing at her Sidekick, which Remus thought was probably burning again.

"Go," Remus advised. She hurried down an alley – stumbled once and caught herself on a bin – and then he heard the telltale pop of her Disapparating.

Remus checked his watch and nodded to himself. He had twenty minutes until he was due to meet the others. He could Apparate to Grimmauld, warn Sirius and then come back in time for lunch. He slid his wand out of his pocket and walked down the side street Nymphadora had just used. He walked until there were no muggles in sight – either in the mouth of the alley, in the alley itself, or looking out of windows that overlooked the alley – and then turned on the spot.

As was becoming habit, he Apparated into the bushes in the park opposite Grimmauld, but this time - instead of walking straight out - walked to the far left gate and around, approaching from Number Eleven's side. If Marlene saw him, he could always claim he was on patrol, but he'd rather avoid being seen by her altogether, if he could manage it.

As a result, he didn't loiter on the doorstep, but simply let himself inside. It was rude, but given the circumstances, he could make an exception. The floorboards creaked as he stepped into the hallway, and he heard quiet feet move upstairs. A moment later, a messy black head peeked over the banister of the fourth floor landing, and then ducked out of sight again.

"Harry?" Remus called. Green eyes and a wand slowly moved over again, and then Harry blinked.

"Moony," he said, sounding surprised. "Padfoot said you were going to be out until after lunch."

"Where is Padfoot?" Remus asked, dreading the answer.

"Out," Harry said. "He went to Marlene's."

"Already?" Remus asked, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach. "How long ago?"

"I dunno. An hour and a bit, maybe?" _He could already be in Azkaban for all we know, _Remus thought, closing his eyes for a moment. There was a loud pop in front of him and then Harry was standing right there. Remus blinked, startled, though he'd seen Harry Apparate before. "What's wrong? Did something happen?"

"Marlene's an Auror. Well, a trainee, but-"

"But then Padfoot..." Remus thought Harry might be sick. "We've got to do something!"

"Harry," Remus said. Harry, who was already halfway to the door, stopped. "There's nothing you can do for him right now."

"But- I have to- It's my fault-" Remus would want to know more about that later, but there wasn't time for it now; Harry was still heading for the door.

"What would Sirius say if you set off the Trace and got yourself caught?"

"That it was a bloody inconvenience," Harry said, sounding remarkably like Sirius as he did so. His hand, which had been reaching for the handle, dropped back to his side.

"Language," Remus corrected absently. "But yes." His mind was working again, spitting out a plan as it had used to do for pranks at school. "I want you and Kreacher to make this place look like it did when you first moved in."

"How's that supposed to he-"

"Think, Harry," he said, his worry manifesting itself as impatience. "They'll come looking here – they'd be stupid not to – and if they find it tidy, with the pantry stocked, beds made and the walls painted, they'll know you've been here."

"Right," Harry muttered.

"You have ten minutes," Remus said, holding Harry's eyes, "to do as much as you can, and then you need to leave. Kreacher needs to stay, and pretend he's been here alone the whole time."

"Leave?" Harry asked, looking aghast. "But- Where-"

"My cottage. Apparate there – that won't set off the Trace because you'll be leaving from here – and find somewhere to hide. Do not use magic after that. _If_ they find you there, Apparate to Hogsmeade. There's a shop there called Honeydukes-"

"Yeah, I know," Harry said.

"One of us will meet you there. If we're not there by seven o'clock tonight, find Snape." Harry's face scrunched up and Remus got a whiff of dislike and was it... fear? "Harry."

"Yeah, all right," he said, but he didn't look happy about it. It was a very James-ish look. "Will you get Padfoot?"

"I'll do what I can." Remus hugged him, aware that this could possibly be the last time he ever saw Harry – unless someone decided to let Harry visit him and Sirius in Azkaban, which was highly unlikely – and then gripped his wand firmly and headed for the door. "Ten minutes!" he called over his shoulder.

"Kreacher!" he heard Harry shout.

_Please don't be too late, please don't be too late_, Remus chanted. He reached the door and cast several Appearance Altering Charms before he stepped out and blinked in the daylight. _I certainly won't make it back in time for lunch_, he thought, shutting the door. He ran toward Number Thirteen. _Please don't be too late, please..._


	25. Hide And Seek

Harry didn't waste any time. He called Kreacher, explained everything in three short, rather terse sentences and then dragged him upstairs. Even as they ran up, the portraits came zooming down out of Kreacher's cupboard. Mrs Black screeched at Harry as she passed him on the stairs, and almost knocked him over.

"Everything that's red - except for what's in Padfoot's room - needs to be green," Harry said, shoving open the door of his bedroom. Kreacher clicked his fingers at the bedding. "And dusty," Harry added. Kreacher looked like he might cry. "Kreacher, please! This is important!" Harry said as he tore the Gryffindor banner off of his wall. "That needs to be a Slytherin one. Green and silver, with a snake!" Kreacher did that and hung it back up, but he seemed to be struggling with the idea of dust.

"Kreacher can't, Kreacher doesn't know how- Kreacher _cleans-_"

Harry opened one of his desk drawers and rubbed his hand in the bottom of it, gathering dust. His fingers also brushed something hard and cold, which turned out to be the vault key he'd been given when he and Padfoot went to Gringotts. He stuffed that in his pocket, just in case.

"Here," he told Kreacher, offering him his dusty hand. "Make more." Kreacher's eyes brightened and he clicked his fingers. The fine layer of dust thickened and then became a lump. When it was roughly the size of Harry's desk, Kreacher clapped and it exploded, layering itself onto the bed, the curtains, the desk and the carpet. Harry checked his watch. Eight minutes left.

Thinking there were probably things that he and Padfoot would need, Harry grabbed his rucksack from under his bed – it clinked quietly, reminding him that they had left a bit of money in the front pocket back in February – and raced over to his wardrobe.

An assortment of clothes was shoved in, rather unceremoniously, as were the sweets in Harry's bedside table, Regulus' golden snake puzzle and Harry's Exploding Snap set, which was right beside them. Kreacher shooed him out of the room and replaced the dust that had been disturbed by Harry's footsteps.

Hedwig, who'd been perched in Padfoot's room flew out to see what the fuss was about only to be coerced back into her cage by Harry and carried out onto the landing. By the time he'd managed to settle her – she was flapping her wings and clicking her beak, obviously displeased by the dust – Kreacher had finished Padfoot's room.

Since Harry would disturb the dust if he went inside, Kreacher Summoned the things he'd need; a set of Padfoot's clothes for Harry to pack, and the photograph of Padfoot and Regulus (and their parents too, Harry supposed) from beside Padfoot's bed, since it was the only one not permanently attached to the wall.

Kreacher ushered Harry down the stairs and then followed, walking backwards, his bony hands almost blurred as they controlled a whirlwind of dust and grime, and also levitated Hedwig's cage.

"Break the bathroom tiles and the taps," Harry said, "and make the doorknobs loose. And we should break the lamps-"

"Kreacher remembers," Kreacher said. "Kreacher will handle things." Harry nodded and headed down the next flight of stairs so as to not interfere. He stopped in the library and stuffed all the books that were out back into the shelves and grabbed the little stash of muggle money he and Padfoot kept there.

He also tipped all the Floo Powder they had into the fire and lit it with a hasty, _"Incendio._"

_Four minutes._

Harry dashed out again, down another flight of stairs and into the drawing room, where he put more books away and burnt more Floo Powder. He was on his way out the door when he skidded to a halt and turned reluctantly. The locket gleamed at him from inside its cabinet.

"Kreacher?" Harry called. CRACK! Hedwig screeched and flapped her wings. The cage rocked in Kreacher's grip and Harry quickly relieved him of it. "I'm taking the locket, just in case we can't come back. Can you-" Before he could even ask properly, Kreacher made an odd hand motion, cancelling the protective charms. The cabinet swung open. Harry seized the locket and the copy of Regulus' note and shoved them both into his rucksack.

A glance at his watch told him it was time to go. He hugged Kreacher tightly and got an awkward pat on the back in return – Kreacher was trying to drape cobwebs like Aunt Petunia had draped tinsel at Christmas.

"Don't forget the troll's leg downstairs," Harry said quickly and then, gripping his wand with one hand and Hedwig's cage with the other, murmured, "_Ostendere me omnia._" Colours danced in front of his eyes and then he twisted, concentrating as hard as he could on the doorstep of Moony's cottage, since that was the only part of it he remembered.

Cool wind rushed over him, ruffling his hair, and Harry could smell the forest, though he couldn't say quite what it smelled like. Hedwig nibbled on the bars of her cage, as if reminding him she was there. He undid the latch and she launched herself out and into the sky before circling down to land in a tree at the bottom of the garden. She glared at Harry for a moment and then began to clean her feathers.

Figuring she was safe enough, Harry decided to ensure his own safety and tried the doorknob. The door swung open. Clearly Moony was isolated enough that he wasn't worried about anyone breaking in. Harry had another look over his shoulder and stepped inside, shutting the door behind him.

The cottage was small – the entire thing would probably fit in the kitchen of Number Twelve – but it was bright and welcoming. Certainly it was more welcoming than Number Twelve had been. There was a hallway to Harry's right and the front door had opened straight into a room that was a sitting room mixed with a kitchen.

Moony had said to hide, but Harry didn't think he was in any immediate danger – Padfoot and Moony were another story but he shoved that thought away - and he was curious; the large collection of photographs on Moony's mantel had certainly drawn his attention. He set the cage and his rucksack down by the couch and walked over.

Some were recent. There were several of Moony and two people Harry thought might be his parents; the woman had his sandy hair and brown eyes and then man was tall like Moony and had the same nose and smile. There was one of Moony and a boy – he was younger than Moony but quite a bit older than Harry – who had dark hair and eyes and a friendly smile.

Some were older photos, taken before Harry was born; in some of them, Moony only looked a few years older than Harry was now. There was one of Moony and James at a Quidditch game - the Cannons, Harry thought, spotting a glimpse of his godfather's bright orange face as he peeked over James' shoulder. There was also one of Moony and his fellow Gryffindor Prefect. It was a pretty girl with bright green eyes and red hair.

He had a niggling feeling that he knew her and so moved his attention to another photograph, hoping to see her again.

The next photo was one of all four Marauders - the same one that Padfoot had in his bedroom at Number Twelve – and Harry knew it well. The one after that was of a large group of people - Harry recognised Dumbledore, his dad, Padfoot, Moony - he growled at Peter's short figure, making the man hide behind Padfoot - and Amelia Bones.

The red-haired woman was there again. Right beside his father, smiling at him. He knew now, who it must be. Since he could put it back up and Moony wouldn't even know he'd moved it, Harry pulled the photo frame down so that he could get a better look at the picture. Shaking, he reached out to trace his parents' faces. Both of them smiled and waved at him. He was used to seeing James smile and wave, but Lily was new to him.

_I do have my mother's eyes._

Harry sat down – he thought his legs might give out – on Moony's couch, the photograph resting in his lap. For a moment, all thoughts of Moony and Padfoot and the danger they could be in, faded.

He thought the photograph was of the Order of the Phoenix; both Padfoot and James were wearing black t-shirts with Phoenixes on them and Dumbledore had a real Phoenix perched on his shoulder. An enormous bearded man – Harry was almost certain he was a giant - kept looking at it and reaching out with a forearm sized finger to pat its plumed head.

Movement where his parents were standing drew his attention back; Moony and Padfoot were stomping each other's feet, and while his father clearly found it funny, his mother was pursing her lips and shooting them disapproving looks. Finally, she seemed to have had enough and turned – presumably to tell them off – when James stomped, admittedly gentler than Moony and Padfoot had been, on her foot. Padfoot gave him a thumbs up from over her shoulder.

Harry watched with baited breath to see what Lily would do; Padfoot had always mentioned her temper, but also mentioned what a kind person she was. Harry was expecting her to either shout at James, or just let it go. He wasn't expecting her to grin and stop on his foot, the way she did. James grinned - the same grin he always gave Harry and Padfoot through the mirror - and flung an arm over her shoulders. A wedding ring glinted on his hand, almost as bright at his smile.

Meanwhile, Moony was talking to Padfoot, but Padfoot was very obviously not listening; he was staring hard at a dark-haired witch, who appeared oblivious on Peter's other side. Or would have, if her eyes didn't keep flicking in his direction. Lily noticed and elbowed Padfoot who straightened and flicked his wand at Peter, as if that had been the intention all along. Harry laughed out loud as photo-Peter's hair turned a vivid shade of green.

Harry had a quick look at the photo's other occupants but they weren't nearly as interesting as his parents and their friends. Even the red-haired twins - Harry thought they looked a bit like Ron from the Leaky Cauldron and were pulling a number of ridiculous poses - failed to hold his attention for long. Harry found his eyes drifting back to the left side of the photo.

Peter was looking indignant, and James and Padfoot swapped pleased looks and high-fives behind Lily's head while Moony repaired the damage. The dark haired witch Padfoot had been staring at earlier had edged closer to Padfoot since he last looked, and then, with a wave of her wand, turned his hair blue. A round faced witch and a man with a kind smile both laughed. Padfoot pulled a face at them.

Harry thought he could have watched for hours, but was disturbed only a few seconds later by a quiet rustle. His head snapped up. It was only a barn owl, perched near the kitchen window, but it did remind him that he was supposed to be hiding, and of course, _that _reminded him of Padfoot and Moony's predicament and made worry start to gnaw on his insides again. Harry returned the photograph to its home above the fireplace and began to look for somewhere to hide.

* * *

Remus took a deep breath, squeezed his wand for reassurance and opened Marlene's front door. It swung open soundlessly to show a white walled hallway with pale floorboards. The only thing in sight that wasn't neutrally coloured was a large, faded Gryffindor banner.

He'd been here before – while he and Marlene had never been particularly close, he'd felt obliged to visit her once or twice a year – and so knew his way around reasonably well. It was only now, however, that he realised that the layout of Number Thirteen was identical to that of Number Twelve; there was a door on either side of the hallway and further ahead on the right he could see the staircase that went up to the rest of the house and on the left he could see the one that went down to the kitchen.

"_Homenum Revelio," _he whispered.

The entire hallway fell into darkness – to Remus' eyes at least – and the walls and floors became little more than faint, almost transparent outlines. Someone glowed bright orange, like a fire, from the room to Remus' left, but the rest of the house was empty. He hoped it was Sirius.

He let the spell slip away, just as a familiar voice said, "Marlene?"

"Sirius!" Remus burst into a room that was positioned exactly where Sirius' training room was in Number Twelve. In Number Thirteen, however, it was a large, bright sitting room, where he and Marlene had sat on the rare occasions he'd visited. This room, unlike the training room, had a fireplace. Standing in front of one of the flowery couches – Remus was almost certain Marlene hadn't picked those - and holding a half-full cup of tea, was Sirius. Remus sagged with relief.

"Harry?" he asked, staring at Remus. "What-"

"It's me, you git," Remus said impatiently. He'd chosen to make himself look like Harry because it would make other people underestimate him, and because it would conceal his own involvement in this. Sirius stared at him.

"Moony? But, why-?"

"Marlene's an Auror trainee, Sirius," he said, wasting no time. "We've got to go, now-"

"Harry's safe?" Sirius said, setting his tea down.

"Yes, he's fine. He'll meet us at my house."

"Your-"

"Yes, mine!" Remus said. "If you'd already been taken, it seemed probable that Aurors would be back to search the area, and – because they'd have to be thick not to – Number Twelve."

"Right," Padfoot muttered. "But-"

"Everything's taken care of, except you," Remus barked, grabbing him. "Let's-"

The fireplace chimed and green flames swelled. He and Sirius exchanged horrified looks and then Sirius was the one pulling Remus out of the sitting room and down the hall.

"Wha-" Remus heard from the room they just vacated, and then the door opened with a bang and Marlene charged out, eyes blazing, wand aloft. Sirius made a little despairing noise and flicked his wand at the front door, which popped open. A jet of red light – either a Stunner or a Disarmer, Remus thought, and either could ruin everything at this point – flew toward them. Remus' wand was lifted and he had the incantation for a Shield Charm on his lips when Sirius' bloomed out, negating the necessity. His hand knocked Remus' wand down.

"Wh-"

"The Trace," Sirius hissed.

"But- Oh!" The Trace wouldn't go off, and they would know he wasn't really Harry. And if they knew that, they could analyse any spells he'd used and follow the magical residue back to him, which would lead them to the real Harry, possibly before he and Sirius could get to him. "What about this, though?" he asked, as Sirius cast another Shield Charm and Marlene was forced to dive out of the way as her spell flew back and scorched the wall. "These spells should set it off."

"Can't be helped," Sirius said. "But if you don't leave any magic behind, they can't prove a thin- _Ventus!_" Marlene tumbled over, giving them enough time to get out of the house. Sirius jumped the four front steps but Remus was too short in his spell-altered body to be sure that he could make it that far, and had to run down them.

"_Incarcerous!"_

"_Protego_ _Ignis_!" Sirius said, and the ropes Marlene had sent at them were destroyed by the burning shield. "Marlene-"

"What were you doing in my house?" she snarled, lifting her wand. Oddly, however, no more spells came at them. Remus suspected she'd remembered they were standing in a muggle street.

"I wanted to talk to you," Sirius said, sounding remarkably calm. "Obviously you're not in a talking mood-"

"Oh, really?" she snapped.

"-which is fine," Sirius continued hastily. "We'll come back another day-"

"We most certainly won't," Remus hissed.

"-when you're more inclined to... er... not... well, hex us." He dropped his voice. "Look scared, Moony. Grab my arm. So," he said loudly, as Remus edged closer and wrapped a small hand around Sirius' forearm, "we'll just be going..."

Marlene's eyes widened and she made a motion with her wand that Remus recognised as some sort of Binding Hex. Sirius, thankfully, blocked it at the last moment, with a jab of his wand. Her eyes narrowed and she flicked her wand several more times. He and Sirius were forced to separate as a bright orange spell whizzed toward them.

Remus doubted it was anything overly dangerous, since Marlene wouldn't want to hurt _him_ at least (he was supposed to be Harry), but he doubted he wanted to be hit by it either. Sirius conjured a spherical shield that absorbed a pink hex and allowed Remus to get back to his side.

"Lovely seeing you," Sirius said cheerfully, though his voice was strained. "Hold tight," he muttered to Remus, and cast a quick look in Number Twelve's direction, obviously thinking of Harry. "Oh, and good luck with Auror training." Marlene's mouth fell open. She might have said something but Remus didn't hear it; Sirius had spun on the spot and pulled Remus along with him.

"Couldn't help yourself, could you?" Remus asked once they were steady; Sirius had brought them to King's Cross Station where they very quickly became a part of the crowd. It was disconcerting, because Remus, who was used to looking down on people because of his height, found himself staring at everyone's elbows. He was just grateful both he and Sirius were wearing jeans and didn't stand out. "You just had to mention the Aurors-"

"Didn't have a choice, did I?" Sirius muttered. Remus didn't have much idea where they were going, but Sirius seemed to. "She was so surprised she didn't even try to stop us- Security camera." Sirius ducked his head, and indicated that Remus should do the same.

"Done this before, have you?" Remus asked.

"Twice," Sirius said. "The first morning I had Harry, we didn't have food so I ducked out to buy that, but I stopped by here to make sure I knew my way around."

"Why?"

"Situations like this," he said, shrugging. "If you want to hide from wizards, where better than in the muggle world?"

"When was the second time?"

"After you found Harry in May. When we escaped, we came here, caught a train and then a bus and then walked home."

"How do you think of these things?"

"I'm just fantastically clever," Sirius said, but he looked distracted.

"What's the real reason?" Remus asked, laughing; he thought Sirius' history as an Auror probably had more to do with it.

"Hmm?" Sirius said, not appearing to hear him. He was silent for a moment and then looked up, eyes guilty and worried. "You're sure Harry's safe?"

"Positive," Remus said. "He's probably hiding under my bed, waiting for us to get there."

"Cupboard."

"What?"

"He'll be in a cupboard," Sirius sighed. He paused and then: "And you're sure-"

"Sirius, he'll be fine."

"Shut up."

"What?"

"Not you- Never mind. If Harry's not fine, I blame you."

"You do that," Remus said, a little disconcerted. Sirius poked his tongue out and guided him along a strange, zig-zagging path. "Padfoot, why are we walking like this?"

"Cameras."

"But we only ducked-"

"That one can't be avoided." Sirius sighed and glanced at Remus, looking resigned. "You wouldn't happen to have any muggle money, would you?"

"Yes, actually," Remus said, reaching into a pocket of his jeans.

"You're joking." Sirius had stopped walking to stare at him.

"I was patrolling today," Remus said, pulling out several muggle coins. "I always take a few pounds when I go, just in case." Sirius shook his head, looking unable to believe his good luck, and guided Remus over to buy tickets.

"Where to?" the woman at the counter asked, giving Sirius a smile. She blushed when he smiled back and ignored Remus entirely. They exchanged the usual pleasantries – though Remus could tell from Sirius' voice that he just wanted to buy the tickets and be done with it – and so Remus leant against the wall and watched the muggles go about their lives.

Everything was remarkably uneventful, at least until he noticed four people in dark cloaks in various places around the station; one was sitting on a bench, next to a muggle business man. One was exchanging words with a muggle policeman and another with a conductor. The fourth was chatting with random muggles, and seemed to be holding a photograph.

_How did they find us so quickly?_ Remus thought, horrified. The answer presented itself immediately; Marlene. She would have had a Sidekick, like Nymphadora's, and contacted the Auror Office immediately. They'd obviously examined the traces left by Sirius' Apparition and been led here.

"Siri- _Dad_," Remus said loudly, tugging on Sirius' sleeve. Sirius glanced down, looking anxious. "We... er... there... I have to go to the bathroom."

"Really?" Sirius asked, giving Remus a puzzled look. "Can... er... you wait until we get home?"

"No," Remus said, tilting his head in the direction of the Aurors. "_Now._" Sirius swore.

"Right," he said. "Sorry," he told the lady at the ticket booth. "We'll... er... be back in a minute." He guided Remus away. "We won't have time to catch a train," Sirius said.

"Doesn't matter. We'll Apparate around a bit, try to lose them that way."

"Hogsmeade's best, then," Sirius said. "Come on, we need somewhere private or we'll scare the muggles."

"We should have changed your face," Remus hissed as they ran toward the bathrooms.

"In front of all the muggles?" Sirius shot back. "Or while we were with Marlene? And," he said, "your face, right now, is probably being looked for just as much as mine."

"Fuck, right," Remus said, running an agitated hand through the messy hair that so resembled Harry's. A man in a suit gave him a scandalised look and then glowered at Sirius.

"Stop swearing," Sirius told him. "You're making me look like a bad paren- _Shut up_!" he hissed. Remus decided to ignore that, this time.

"You are a bad- Oh, all right," he said, grinning, when Sirius gave him a plaintive look. "Sorry."

"Ha," Sirius said under his breath. "Told you."

"Who-?" Remus began.

"Don't worry about it." There was only one man in the bathroom when they entered, and he was drying his hands. They waited until he'd left and then Sirius locked the door with a charm that would wear off in thirty seconds. "Hogsmeade?" he asked, and held out his arm.

Remus nodded and then Sirius spun. The grey bathroom tiles they were standing on swirled and darkened and became the muddy road that connected Hogsmeade and the school.

"Come on," he said, walking toward the trees that lined the road.

"Wait," Sirius said, pulling off his shoes.

"Sirius, what in Merlin's-"

"Shh." Sirius grinned and with a flick of his wand, dropped his shoes. They landed with a squelch and a spray of muck. Sirius murmured another spell and the shoes took off along the road toward the village.

"Footprints," Remus said softly and then shook himself. "Do you actually think of everything?"

"Eighteen years of friendship and you haven't worked that out yet?" Sirius asked archly. Remus thought it was more like ten or eleven, given Sirius' time in Azkaban but didn't say so. "My, my, Moony, how the mighty have fallen-"

"Yes, yes, it's tragic," Remus said impatiently, making Sirius laugh. "Here, we should get off the road." He headed into the trees on the left, knowing they'd lead them into the main part of the Forbidden Forest; the trees on the right were too sparse to provide any real shelter and the forest on that side ended not far from where they were. Sirius didn't say anything but the quiet sound of socks in mud told Remus he was following.

"Disgusting," Sirius said when they were far enough into the trees that they couldn't see the road anymore. Remus turned to find Sirius sitting on the ground, peeling off his ruined socks. "_Evanesco_," he said darkly, and then leaned back against a tree trunk. "So, where to, Moony?"

"Get up, you git," he said, nudging Sirius with his shoe. "We can't go anywhere if you're sitting down."

"We can't go anywhere if we don't know where we're going," Sirius countered, making no move to stand.

"_We're_ not going anywhere," Remus told him after a moment. Sirius blinked and then his eyebrows came together. Remus -recognising the danger signs - hurried to explain. "My search team are probably all wondering where I am. You being seen in London will be all over tomorrow's_ Prophet_ and none of them are thick enough to look past the fact that I was missing at the same time."

"So where will you go?"

"To meet up with them." Remus checked his watch. "I'll be half an hour late but I can just tell them I got caught up-"

"Why don't you tell them you were with me?" Remus stared at him. "No, really," Sirius continued, looking eager. "Tell them you tracked me and Harry to Grimmauld Place and then I ran – because I'm so deviously clever, of course-"

"Of course," Remus agreed, fighting to keep a straight face.

"I really don't like it when you look like Harry," Sirius said, pouting. "He's much nicer than you, so your cruelty takes me by surprise-"

"Constant Vigilance!" Remus couldn't help saying in a loud whisper; he had the sense not to shout when there could be Aurors in the area. Sirius glowered at him. Remus grinned. "What were you saying?"

"That I'm deviously clever-"

"At the train station you said fantastically-"

"Yes, that too. Now, you should tell them that you were tracking me and I just disappeared. You searched Grimmauld Place because you know my mother used to live there and found nothing. If you're in a bad enough mood when you meet them for lunch, they'll have no trouble believing you."

"That's not actually a bad idea," Remus said. "Although it might be better to just say I saw you at King's Cross."

"Whatever works," Sirius said, shrugging.

"And the bad mood part might be easier said than done." It was like they were back in Hogwarts, evading Filch after a well executed prank. The stakes were higher but that just made everything all the more enjoyable; Remus was sure James would approve – for him, the risk of being caught had always been the best part.

"I'll put that Flea Jinx on you," Sirius offered. "That'll ruin your mood." Remus shuddered.

"Don't you-" There were eight quiet pops. Both men froze, their heads snapping up in the direction of the noise – which, admittedly was quite far away, but still cause for worry. "Think they'll buy the footprints?" Remus wasn't sure why he was whispering but he couldn't quite bring himself to speak normally.

"They can't risk not following them," Sirius whispered back. "They'll have to split up. You have to go."

Remus nodded. "I'll meet you at my house?"

"I s'pose so," Sirius said.

"If I'm not there in two hours, assume I've been caught and find somewhere else to go. I'll do the same for you." Sirius nodded. "Do me a favour, though?"

"What?"

"Don't get caught."

Sirius grinned and vanished into the foliage. Remus could hear him muttering – it almost sounded as if he was arguing with himself. Remus didn't have time to dwell on that now, though. He turned to the nearest tree and began to climb. Only when he was well above the ground did he pull out his wand and reverse the Appearance Charms he was wearing, and resize his clothes. He conjured a mirror to check his appearance, vanished the mirror and then prepared to Disapparate.

He was a little unsteady on his branch – he'd never had a problem with heights, exactly, but he'd never had James and Sirius' confidence either – but Aurors would be searching for magical traces on the ground, not in the trees. He managed to spin on the spot.

He saw rather than felt himself falling sideways – a large branch rushed toward his face – but it vanished into blackness before it could cause a problem.

* * *

"_Homenum Revelio_," Gawain murmured. He nodded once to himself. "Someone's upstairs. Stay behind me, McKinnon."

"Yes, sir," Marlene breathed, stepping into the house behind Gawain. Her wand was clenched tightly in her fist and her eyes refused to stay focused on anything for more than a few seconds. The floor creaked and she jumped.

"You all right, McKinnon? You seem jumpy."

"Do I?" she hissed. "That's odd. I can't _imagine_ why I might be jumpy. It's not like _Sirius Black was in my house this morning_-" She cut off as something moved upstairs.

Gawain stopped so suddenly that she walked into the back of him and bounced off. Dust puffed up around them, revealing scuffed floorboards. When she looked up, Gawain's face was only inches from hers, his eyes bright green and intent.

"McKinnon, I will ask this once, and once only," he said in a tone that was somehow hard and gentle all at once. "Can you do this?"

She opened her mouth but he held up a hand. His smallest finger had been blown off in the war and he'd told her he hadn't healed it so that it would serve as a reminder to stay alert. It was his own version of 'Constant vigilance', she supposed, but he hadn't yet taken to shouting it randomly.

"Truthfully, please, McKinnon," he said in the same stern, soft voice. "I will think nothing less of you if you're unable to do this and it will not affect your training, but if you're going to be a liability I need to know-" And there was that disconcerting honesty; it was the thing she most loved about her mentor. He wouldn't lie to her, not to spare her feelings, not to keep her safe.

He was blunt and she liked that, though it reminded her uncannily of James and even Sirius, neither of whom had ever been afraid to say what they thought – though James had had more tact than Sirius. She supposed the similarities weren't really surprising; Gawain had been trained by Charlus Potter – James' father, who was something of a legend in the D.M.L.E – and James and Sirius had grown up influenced by the same man. Thankfully, Gawain had a very limited sense of humour – nothing at all like the other three – and he wasn't so similar that she was completely lost to nostalgia and unable to function. It was a delicate balance.

Gawain cleared his throat.

"I can do this," she said honestly.

"You're not afraid of him?" he asked. His eyes continued to scan the hallway, but for now they were alone.

"No," she said. And she wasn't. Sirius, Merlin knew why, had seen her twice and made no move to kill her either time because he'd wanted to talk. If anything, he'd seemed afraid of _her_.

_And so he bloody well should be_, she thought.

Gawain considered her for a moment. She wasn't sure how much he'd been told about Sirius' past and how she fit into it – she certainly hadn't brought it up – and that was probably why his thoughtful expression changed into one of disbelief; why should he believe she wasn't scared?

Sirius had blown up one friend, arranged the deaths of a man he considered a brother and a woman who'd been like his sister, broken out of a supposedly impenetrable wizarding prison and then kidnapped the son of his old, dead friends. And he'd shown up at her house, twice, though no one knew about the first.

"Why are you so jumpy, then, if not for fear?"

"I don't want to give him another chance to slip through the cracks," she said. "I want him- I want him caught."

"Caught?" he asked.

"Dead," she admitted after a moment, clenching her fists. She might have closed her eyes if she hadn't been keeping a lookout for Sirius, or any traps he might have left behind.

"We need him alive, McKinnon. There are things we need to know. About Azkaban, for example, and how he's been evading us. Who's helping him, how did he get through the wards on Harry Potter's muggle home? Lots of people still want his account of Halloween all those years ago – he never had a trial, remember?"

"I remember." She also remembered Sirius' account, the one he'd told her after he nearly died in her hallway. The one that might actually convince the idiots at the Ministry if he was given a chance to talk to them. Or convince them by buying his way free with the help of people like Lucius Malfoy. She didn't think she could bear it if that happened, if Sirius walked free – truly free – after everything. "I still want him dead."

"You can want something without acting on it."

"And if I do?" she asked quietly.

"It could mean your expulsion from the Program." That, she was aware of, but her expulsion would mean that Sirius was dead, and that was why she'd joined the Aurors in the first place. Her face must have given away some of what she was thinking because Gawain sighed and ran a hand over his day-old beard. "McKinnon-"

"I'm not about to kill him on sight, sir," she said stiffly. She'd take him to Lupin, first, so that they could do it together. It would be a private sentencing.

"When would you do it then? Would you wait to kill him when he's asleep in his cell in Azkaban, helpless?" She didn't say anything. Gawain shook his head. "I haven't known you long, McKinnon, but I know you're better than that."

Her lips quirked up into what wasn't quite a smile and her eyes, absurdly, filled with tears – probably, she thought, because she knew that Gawain didn't lie. He truly believed that.

"I don't think so, sir."

"I think you're wrong. Aurors save lives, they don't take them." He stared at her beseechingly, but she couldn't bring herself to meet his eyes. She swallowed and stared at the dusty floor. "You could be a good Auror, McKinnon."

She offered him that same, not-quite-a-smile and stepped around him. Wand aloft, she started off down the hallway again. Gawain said nothing more and walked after her. He overtook her before she'd gone more than a few steps and glanced back, as if he might say something, but didn't.

Because he was looking at her, he didn't see the large, lumpy and very dusty thing in his path and walked straight into it. It fell with a crash and started screaming. Marlene cast a hasty Shield Charm but nothing came at them. She was forced to let it drop so that she could clamp her hands over her ears.

"Filth!" the thing was screaming. "Filth in the House of Black!" Gawain waved his wand and the lumpy thing – which appeared to be a troll's leg upon closer inspection – vanished. The screeching continued: "Intruders! Mudbloods and blood-traitors, I can smell them!" Marlene swallowed, a little disconcerted; she was a blood-traitor, and Gawain had had muggle parents. "Out, filth! Kreacher!"

"We're Aurors," Gawain called, getting back to his feet and joining the search for the screaming.

"Then you should know that trespassing is illegal!" the woman's voice shrieked. "Or at least have the decency to send a pureblood!"

"There," Gawain said, pointing to a portrait, framed by grubby curtains.

"I'm a pureblood," Marlene said, glancing at Gawain, who nodded.

"It's McKinnon isn't it?"

"Erm... yes. Are you Mrs-"

"I knew it! Slag! Filthy blood-traitor! Consorting with that Potter and his Mudblood wife, and _him_! Oh, I remember you, poisoning _his_ mind like you're poisoning my house! You and that Potter and that other dirty-blooded b-"

CRACK! A small, dirty shape materialised between them and the portrait. Gawain released a Stunner but moved his wand at the last minute so that it hit the wall instead of what appeared to be a house-elf. He had enormous grey eyes, a large, snout-like noise and was dressed only in a greying loincloth.

"Kreacher! Get this _filth_ out of my House! The House of my fathers, forever soiled by these two- two-"

"_Silencio," _Marlene said. The woman's eyes bulged and painted spit burst from her thin lips.

"How dare you! How _dare_ you use magic on _me_ in my own home! I'll have you reported, locked up in Azkaban like the waste you are! Kreacher! Fetch ink and parchment!" The elf hesitated and then scurried off down the hallway, stirring up dust as he went.

"Let's go," Gawain said, hurrying after the elf. Marlene had no objections to anything that would keep her away from the portrait. The woman kept screaming. Obviously she was immune to Silencing Charms.

They cornered the elf in a dusty study, where he was rummaging through an old desk. He looked up when they came in, seeming afraid.

"We're not going to hurt you," Gawain said, crouching down to the elf's height. "We've just got some questions."

"What kind of questions, Kreacher wonders," the elf said, watching them warily. "Kreacher is a good elf and Mistress is good and Kreacher and Mistress have done nothing to deserve this invasion, oh no. Mistress always did say that-"

"Your Mistress," Gawain said gently. "Is she the woman in the portrait?"

"Oh, yes," the elf called Kreacher said.

"That's Mrs Black? Sirius Black's mother?"

"Broke her heart, Master did," Kreacher said, looking angry all of a sudden. "Master Regulus was a good boy, he knew what was due to the name of Black. Master Sirius brought the family shame with his wicked ways, running away to live with blood-traitors and Mu- Mu- Mudbloods." He shuddered, as if saying the word had hurt him and then shrieked, "Bad Kreacher!" Before either Marlene or Gawain could respond, he'd seized a dusty paperweight and started beating it against the side of his bald head.

"_Accio,_" Marlene said, before Gawain had the chance. The paperweight flew out of his hands and Marlene caught it easily; she hadn't been a Keeper for nothing. Kreacher gave her a spiteful look but didn't pick anything else up. She set it back down on the desk.

"Do you live here alone, Kreacher?" Gawain pressed, gently.

Kreacher drew himself up. "Kreacher lives with Mistress. Kreacher is not alone."

"He means-" The word 'people' died in Marlene's mouth. She didn't think that would go down well. "He means to ask if Sirius and Harry have been here," Marlene said.

"M-Master?" Kreacher asked.

"That's right," Gawain said. "Your Master Sirius. Have you seen him?"

"Kreacher doesn't know where Master is," Kreacher said flatly. "The papers say Master is a murderer now. Master always had such a temper, Kreacher remembers, oh yes. Dangerous, Master is. Kreacher heard he stole the Potter boy. A brat, Kreacher is sure." Marlene looked at Gawain, who was frowning.

"Do you mind if we search the house?" Gawain asked.

Kreacher looked angry but seemed to realise he couldn't stop them. He did, however, fold his thin arms and glower at them.

"Kreacher and his Mistress Black have nothing to hide," he said in his croaky voice. "The Aurors won't find any servants of the Dark Lord here, oh no."

With that, he collected the parchment, quill and ink he'd been sent to find and trotted out of the room to soothe his still screaming Mistress. Gawain let out a groan and pushed himself off of the dusty carpet.

"Mad elf," he muttered. Marlene agreed wholeheartedly.

"Do you think he's telling the truth?"

"Hard to say." Gawain brushed dust off of his robes. "If Black has been living here – miserable as this place is-" he added, glancing at the cobwebbed roof, "- then he's probably ordered the elf not to say anything. It's also possible that Kreacher's telling the complete truth." He ran a hand over his beard again. "Shall we?" he asked, gesturing toward the door.

They spent almost an hour searching for any traces of Sirius or Harry but found nothing. They went through every room – each was as dusty as the last – and found nothing to suggest that anyone had lived there for a very long time. Gawain had even cast a spell to detect magical activity that had occurred in the house but even that proved a waste of time.

"Is it possible they hid the traces?" Marlene asked as they trooped back downstairs. "I know erasing leaves signs and I know there are spells to hide magic's use, but are there any spells that can actually hide magic?" Gawain thought for a moment.

"Fidelius Charm, might, I suppose. Scrimgeour said Potter mentioned that when he was under Veritaserum." He pursed his lips and his eyes froze over, showing just what he thought of Veritaserum being administered to a nine year old.

"He what!?" she snarled. "When?"

"St Mungo's in August. Courtesy of Minister Fudge, or so I'm told." Angry as she was about that, she forced it down.

"Is there any way to check if there's an active Fidelius Charm in an area?"

"I'd say you'd have to be in on the Secret or it would defeat the point."

"Is there one here?"

"Why would I know?" he asked, looking exasperated.

"Experience?" she suggested. "Does this look like the sort of place that someone would hide-"

"Not long term,' Gawain replied. "It's filthy."

"But wouldn't the Fidelius Charm make it look this way? To throw us off the trail?"

"It doesn't work like that. The Fidelius Charm is – in the simplest terms possible – a lot like a very powerful, slightly altered Disillusionment Charm that will only work in a particular area. It hides all traces of a person's existence; you can't see them, hear them, smell them, touch them... It hides _them_. It doesn't create disguises. Or dust," he added, glancing at the floor.

"Is it possible for a house to be under the Fidelius Charm and not be invisible?"

"Most Fidelius Charms are combined with a spell to make the building invisible to those who aren't in on the Secret. It's an extra precaution."

"But this house isn't invisible."

"It is to muggles, but not to us," Gawain said. "It's extensively warded – there are Notice-Me-Not Charms on the outside and the windows are one-way; they'll let you see out but not in."

"But none of them were put up by Sirius," Marlene asked dejectedly.

"The warding is so complex we couldn't ever be certain," Gawain said. "But from what I could tell, no."

"So they're not here?"

"If they were using a Fidelius Charm, they could be standing two feet away and we'd never know." Gawain gave her a tight smile and it took Marlene a moment to realise that was his idea of a joke. She laughed, once, half-heartedly. "No, I don't think they're here. If they ever were, it was a long time ago." He ran a finger through the dust on the banister and made a disapproving noise.

"So we're done here?"

"Well and truly. Hopefully the others have saved us some tea." Marlene's house, conveniently located next door, had become a temporary Auror base; when she and Gawain had come into Number Twelve, others had been examining Sirius' Apparition traces on the street, and also the magic he'd used inside. She hoped those Aurors had had more luck than she and Gawain but something told her that was a futile hope.

They descended the last flight of stairs in silence that was shattered the moment they reached the hallway again.

"Kreacher told them Kreacher had nothing to hide," the elf croaked, scuttling past.

"Yes," Gawain said kindly. "I'd like to thank you for your coop-"

Marlene didn't catch the rest; Mrs Black must have heard them speaking, because her abusive screams started up again. She sincerely hoped there was still tea at her house.


	26. Family Matters

"Remus!" Matt exclaimed, looking worried and relieved all at once. "What's going on? Where-"

"Sirius," Remus said, sinking into the nearest chair.

"You found him?" Dirk asked, taking a look at Remus' face.

"I found him," Remus confirmed.

"Where's Theodora?" Arabella asked. "She wasn't hurt, was she? Not on her first day?"

"She wasn't feeling well, so I sent her home." Remus' eyes flicked to Matt as he said it; Matt had been a werewolf long enough to know how to detect a lie, but thankfully, he either didn't notice, or was going to bring it up when they were alone. "I was over near Kings Cross – thought I might find you, Dirk, and we'd come back together." Another lie, but Matt didn't react to that either. "Then, in the station, a boy who looked a lot like Harry and a man that looked a lot like Sirius showed up."

"Did you alert the Ministry?"

"They were already there," Remus said. "But given what happened last time, I wasn't particularly keen on working with them." Everyone knew about the Scrimgeour episode and Matt even chuckled.

"So did you catch them?" Matt asked curiously.

"With all the muggles around?" Remus asked with a bitter laugh. "No. I followed them, though. They were buying train tickets when Harry said something about the bathroom. They went in and I waited outside – one man came out, but that was it. I waited for a few minutes, and then decided to have a look, but when I checked, it was empty." Arabella's face fell. Matt, however, looked shrewd.

"And then you came back here?" Remus nodded and sighed.

"So Theodora said she was sick and left, minutes before you ran into Sirius Black?" Dirk asked.

Arabella gasped. "You don't think she's helping him-?"

"No," Remus said flatly.

"It's a bit suspicious, though, don't you think?" Dirk pressed. Arabella nodded.

"She seems like a lovely young lady, and it might just be a coincidence, but it is worth looking into, don't you think, Remus?"

"If Remus thinks she's trustworthy, she probably is," Matt said.

"Oh, but-" Arabella began.

"I'll talk to her about it," Remus said after a moment.

"Mind you're careful," Arabella said. "If she _is_ with Sirius Black, she could turn nasty."

Remus struggled to keep a serious expression – the idea of a nasty Nymphadora made him want to laugh – and nodded. Arabella and Dirk seemed appeased.

"What should we do for the rest of the day, then?"

"Sirius could be anywhere right now-" That wasn't a lie, either; he was probably taking a roundabout route to Remus'. "-and the Ministry have hopefully caught on and are doing what they can." Arabella snorted to show what she thought of that. "They won't want us underfoot, and if we start interfering in the wizarding search Malfoy will... well, Malfoy will have something to say about it, I'm sure."

"There's an understatement," Matt muttered. Dirk chuckled.

"So what should we do?" Dirk asked. Remus checked his watch.

"Go back to wherever you were this morning and patrol until three. If you don't hear anything, go home."

"And tomorrow?"

"Meet here as usual."

"Are you all right, Remus?" Arabella asked.

"Er... Shaken," Remus said.

"You look like you could use a drink," Matt said, clapping him on the shoulder.

"That's a good idea," Arabella said. "Nothing too strong, though. He needs to relax, not fall asleep." Matt grinned at her and fished around in his pocket for coins.

"You two staying?"

"No," Dirk said. "If he was at Kings Cross, he might come back." He waved and left.

Arabella shook her head and departed with a, "You look after him, Matthew."

Matt grinned and wandered over to the bar, leaving Remus sitting alone, cautiously hopeful that everyone had believed him, and that Sirius and Harry were both safe.

"Butterbeer?" Remus asked, grinning.

"Yeah," Matt said. "It's not my fault Arabella assumed I meant firewhiskey when I said 'drink'. Tom's coming by with sandwiches, but I put those on your account."

"Thank you," Remus said, not minding in the least; he was bloody starving.

"So you found Sirius?" Remus sighed and nodded, taking a sip of is drink. "Were you afraid?"

"Terrified," Remus murmured. _For him. _Matt cocked his head thoughtfully.

"I doesn't make sense," he said finally, tracing the wet sides of his mug.

"What doesn't?"

"You were terrified," Matt said, frowning. "That's true. But-"

"But what?" Remus asked carefully. Matt wrinkled his nose.

"You smell like a forest. Like mud, and sap. And a person who's not Theodora. According to your story, though, you never left Kings Cross, never talked to any of the Aurors – any other people for that matter." Remus sighed and had another mouthful of butterbeer. "I don't understand why you lied."

"I didn't lie," Remus said.

"By omission." Remus, unable to argue with that, inclined his head.

"Are you angry?" he asked. Matt's expression was closed – which was unusual for him – and his scent was muted.

"No. I just don't understand." Remus thought quickly, constructing a lie in his mind.

"The person you can smell is-"

"Black," Matt whispered, leaning toward him. Remus baulked.

"What? No-" Matt frowned and held up a hand. "I-"

"Please just let me talk." Remus took a deep breath, unable to believe what was happening.

"All right," he said cautiously.

"I know what Potter - Harry – smells like, from when I dropped a change of robes at St Mungo's for you." Remus didn't say anything. "And then, he escaped. Black spirited him away with his evil powers, or whatever it was the _Prophet_ said. Also according to the _Prophet_, neither of them have been spotted since."

"Sirius has always been cunning," Remus mumbled.

"Not cunning enough, apparently," Matt said quietly, "because ever since St Mungo's, you've smelled like Harry and someone else, who I'd bet my magic is Sirius Black." Remus didn't know what to say. He opened his mouth and closed it several times.

"I-" he tried, but just then, Tom appeared and placed a plate of sandwiches down between them. Then, he gave them a gappy smile and went back to the bar, but Remus' words were gone. A glance at the plate told him his appetite was too.

"It's all right," Matt said, smiling. Remus blinked, stunned to see what appeared to be a genuine smile on his face. He smelled genuine too. "I know better than anyone that things are complicated sometimes. I figure if I'd needed to know, you would have told me by now."

"When- when did you... grow up?" Remus asked. The Matt he'd watched grow up had always been easy-going, but had also hated to be excluded from even the most trivial things. "Why aren't you... well, demanding an explanation?"

"Do you want me to?" Matt asked, grinning.

"Not particularly, no," Remus admitted, still stunned.

"I thought as much." Matt laughed at the look on Remus' face. "Look, you hated Black. I smelled it, every time his name was mentioned. It was like the air was set on fire. It burned, Remus. I didn't even have to _try_ to smell – you know what a pain that is – because it was so overwhelming. I know you're a reasonable liar but even you couldn't have faked that."

"And?" Remus asked tiredly.

"It's gone. I talk about Black and if I'm not looking for a scent, I don't find anything. If I am, you smell... content. I don't know what he told you - and I'm not asking to - but obviously things aren't the way they appear to be. If you believe him... well... I believe you. I mean, you're alive, aren't you?"

"I am indeed," Remus said, chuckling.

"Good thing too," Matt added. "I've grown rather fond of you over the years. You're like the uncle I never had – not that I'd have wanted the uncle I could have had-" he added hastily. Remus, who'd known Evan Rosier, had to agree. "-you're much better." Remus smiled and reached for a sandwich.

"Thank you," he said. Matt grinned and picked one off the plate as well.

"So what are you doing here?" Remus blinked at the odd question.

"I'm having a lunch of sorts with a disturbingly perceptive friend of mine."

"That isn't what I meant. I meant, why are you still bothering with Malfoy? If I were you, I'd have buggered off as soon as I could. I mean, why waste your time searching for someone you know how to find?"

"And give myself away?" Remus asked wryly. "If I'd stopped searching for Harry after he makes a suspicious escape from St Mungo's, Malfoy would have suspected I was involved."

"He wouldn't be wrong though, would he?" Matt asked with a wicked grin.

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," Remus said, with dignity. He couldn't help winking, however. Matt laughed, and Remus felt his heart lighten; Dumbledore and Matt were the two it had been hardest – morally and literally – for him to lie to about this whole thing. Having one know the truth – or some of it – and not condemn him for it, was, well, wonderful. "But you see why I can't just quit." Matt nodded thoughtfully.

"So you'll just play along?"

"Not quite," Remus said with a small smile. "He's planning to replace me."

"What!?"

"That's what Theodora's here for." Matt choked on his mouthful of butterbeer and gestured for Remus to continue. "Malfoy's set her up to take my place – after I teach her enough to do so, of course."

"And he told you all of this?" Matt asked doubtfully.

"No. She did."

"_What?_"

"She's a good sort," Remus said, shrugging. Matt shook his head.

"Apparently. Bloody hell, when did things get so complicated?"

"We can thank our mutual _friend_ for that," Remus said sarcastically, lifting his drink. Matt's mug clinked against his.

"May the horrible sod rot in hell." They both drank.

"Speaking of Greyback," Remus said, swallowing a bite of his lunch. "I'm leaving after Christmas."

"Same. Until February again?"

"Do you think you can handle two months?" Remus asked, watching Matt for his reaction.

"Yeah, I reckon. Do you think it's worth asking Debbie?"

"I was going to ask you the same thing." They both sighed.

"I'm not looking forward to that conversation," Matt said ruefully.

"I'm not looking forward to explaining to Malfoy where half of his search team's gone."

"If you get Tock up to scratch, we can pretend it's a side-effect of you being laid off." Remus tucked that thought away for consideration. Matt downed the last of his butterbeer and stood. "Well, I'm off to patrol. Where should I look?"

Remus smiled. "Wherever you like."

* * *

"So you enjoyed Paris, then?" Tonks gritted her teeth.

"Paris," she said flatly. "Yes."

"What was it your mentor had you doing? He didn't say." Keith smiled at her from behind his menu and she returned it, though it felt a little forced.

"Yes," she said darkly, "he's a bit obsessed with secrecy." She'd told Moody as much too, when they spoke earlier. Shouted might be a more accurate word, actually; he'd been rather unhappy with her about ending the charm on her Sidekick before he was done talking and her temper had responded in kind. "And... erm... he had me investigating a Veela."

"A Veela? Shouldn't that be left to the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures?"

"Well, sort of, I suppose. There was a bloke from Veela Relations with me, and a woman from the French Ministry-"

"It's probably a good thing you were in Paris."

"Why?"

"_The_ _Evening Prophet _said Black was spotted in London around lunchtime."

"I know," she growled. She was still furious about that. "What's your point?"

"You were far away from Black."

"I know," she said again. The fringe she was wearing tonight turned red. "How's that a good thing?"

"Well," Keith said, giving her hair a wary glance, "it means you were safe."

"It also means I missed out on a chance to catch him," she said, her irritation at Moody returning.

"I'm glad you did," Keith said softly. "I don't want you in any danger."

"That's sweet," Tonks said, offering him a proper smile this time, "but unrealistic. I'm an Auror. I'm bound to do something dangerous sooner or later."

"But you'll have other people with you, right? People that'll look after you?"

"I'll have people around to help me," she said. "But I don't need babysitters. I can take care of myself."

"You're new to being an Auror," Keith said slowly. "You hardly know anything compared to the rest of them."

"So, by that logic, you hardly know anything about Beating because you aren't a professional Quidditch player," she snapped. Keith bristled.

"I've had experience! I-"

"And I haven't? I got into plenty of duels through school, remember?" Keith leaned back in his chair, looking stunned. "What?" she asked irritably.

"This is our first fight," he said softly.

_No, it's not... Oh. Maybe he means... as a couple? _That was a strange thought. Tonks sighed.

"It's not a fight," she said. "It's me being grumpy because I've had a long day." Keith reached across to take her hand and gave it a squeeze. "Sorry," she said in a small voice.

"That's okay," he said, and then looked worried. "But- you aren't grumpy at me, are you?"

"No," she said. "We're fine."

"Good," Keith said, looking relieved. He kept hold of her hand and reached for his menu with the other. "What do you want to eat?"

"Dunno." She reached for her own menu, scanned it briefly and then set it down. "Just a burger, I think."

Keith waved someone over to take their orders – he had fish and chips and they both asked for butterbeers – and then the waiter was gone, leaving Tonks thinking how much simpler – and in her opinion, nicer – this place was than Madam Puddifoot's, where they'd been four times in total now; there was not a trace of sickly pink wallpaper, or lacy pillows on the seats. There wasn't a heart in sight, and the best thing about it, was the lack of those stupid cherubs and their confetti.

"Nymphadora?" Keith called. "Nymph-"

"You know I prefer Tonks," she said, snapping out of her thoughts.

"Why is that?" he asked. "I don't think you've ever said."

"Because Nymphadora's a stupid name."

"I think it's nice."

Tonks sighed. "You and Mum are going to get along wonderfully."

"Do you think so?" Keith asked, looking nervous all of a sudden. "What about your dad?"

"Dad gets along with everyone."

"What's his job? He's not an Auror too, is he?" He looked positively terrified at the thought.

"Muggle Relations at the Ministry," Tonks said, hiding a grin. "And he also works at a muggle television station."

"So he likes muggles, then?"

"He's muggleborn," Tonks said shrugging. "His whole family – aside from me and Mum – are muggles, so yeah, he does like them."

"So all your relatives-"

"Are muggles. At least on Dad's side. Mum's side are... er... purebloods. We don't see them much."

"Why not? Don't you get along?"

"No," Tonks said bluntly. Keith squeezed her hand. "What about your family?" If Keith realised she was drawing the conversation away from her mother's relatives, he didn't say anything.

"They're nothing special," he said. "Mum used to be a Healer but she stopped working when I was born. Dad's with Cleansweep – he makes brooms. Both of them were only-children so I don't have any cousins but I see my grandparents a lot; they're all magical."

Conversation lapsed after that, but it wasn't too bad, because their food and drinks arrived. Keith showed every indication of wanting to keep holding hands but had to give up when it got too hard to eat. They both laughed about that and then got to talking about dating history; Tonks had fancied a boy from her muggle primary school and they'd sat together at lunch everyday for a week before he decided to eat with Ashley White instead. Keith, as Tonks knew, had dated Dawn Carter for three months in fifth year before deciding to stay friends.

Keith laughed at the idea of Tonks in a muggle primary school and stories of that entertained them all through dessert.

"I never went to one of those primate schools," he said once she'd finished telling him a story about the time she tripped and knocked over three other people at her primary school graduation ceremony.

"Primary," Tonks corrected, grinning.

"Yes, those. Mum taught me from home and then when Alfred moved next door I had lessons with him. My mum and his mum shared the teaching."

"No wonder the two of you were so close," Tonks said. Keith shrugged. "How is Alfred, by the way?"

"Busy. He got into his Department for Magical Children or whatever it is, so he's been learning his way around. I'm surprised you haven't seen him anywhere, actually, since you're both at the Ministry."

"The Ministry's a big place," Tonks said. "And I'm generally having lessons in the Auror Department, or I'm not there at all."

"True." Keith leaned out of the way as their plates were Summoned from the kitchen. "Have you heard from anyone else since school?"

"Well, you of course," Tonks said, making Keith grin. "And I've seen Charlie and Tom, but not since we had lunch before my Auror tests. I think I'm having dinner with them tomorrow night."

"I wanted to see you tomorrow," Keith said, looking upset.

"We'll do something another night," she assured him.

"Are they still going away?"

"I haven't heard – the pair of them are _hopeless_ when it comes to keeping in touch."

"You're not the best either," he said, lifting an eyebrow. "I'm still waiting for you to send Helga back." Helga was Keith's owl, who made – if Tonks had to guess – at least four trips to her house each day.

"I was already in bed by the time she came," Tonks sighed.

"Surely you saw her this morning, though?"

"Yeah, but I had to leave early. I was planning to write back tonight."

"I thought something might have happened." Tonks didn't say anything. Keith checked his watch. "Are you ready to go? I thought we could go back to yours?"

"My house?"

"Yeah. I'd like to meet your mum and dad." Tonks was a little surprised. "If that's all right, of course-"

"That should be all right," she said, blinking. "Yeah. Er... we'll just pay and go, then?"

"I'll pay," he corrected.

"Keith-"

"I'm being polite," he insisted. "Just say thank you."

"Thank you," she said. "But I'm making lots as a trainee. Next time I want to pay. For both of us."

"You know I won't let you."

"Next time," she promised, getting to her feet. Unfortunately, she tripped on her robes and plonked right back down.

"Are you all right?"

"Fine," she said, getting up again. "Completely fine, just clumsy." It was a small price to pay, really, for her ability to change height and weight at a moment's notice. She actually thought she did pretty well staying upright for a girl who had different length legs every day.

"I like your fringe, by the way," he said. "It looks nice." Tonks stared, thrown by the sudden change in topic.

"Thanks," she said uncertainly. "So, shall we go?"

"Yeah." Keith left a handful of coins on their table – Tonks scowled – and they slipped out into the cold street.

Tonks had always thought Diagon Alley was creepy at night and tonight was no different; it was dark, with only a few lamps burning, quiet, since all of the shoppers had gone home, and the large signs – which were usually so colourful during the day – left long, spiky shadows on the cobbled ground.

"It's weird, isn't it? Eerie," she said, pulling her gloves out of her pocket. Keith paused, midway through putting on his scarf, and grinned.

"I'll protect you," he said. Tonks rolled her eyes, not bothering to say anything. "You aren't actually scared, are you?" he asked hopefully.

"No," she said, amused. "Why?"

"I just thought it might be a good excuse to hold your hand," he mumbled, flushing.

"Why do you need an excuse?" Tonks asked, reaching out to grab his gloved hand. He smiled. Tonks hesitated and then ploughed right forward with her next sentence, figuring that, no matter what he said back, she'd know where they stood. "I mean, we are dating, aren't we?"

"Yeah," Keith said nodding.

_There's no chance that this will ruin our friendship, then_, she thought; that was the only reason she'd held off saying it for so long, otherwise she'd have said it weeks ago.

"I quite like you, you know," she continued. Odd, that her hair stayed blond now, when she'd just said something like that, yet it went a brilliant pink if she tripped or shouted at Moody.

"I really like you, too," he said. They stared at each other for a while and then Keith cleared his throat and looked away. "So... er... should we go?"

"Yeah," Tonks said, staring at the ground to hide her smile. "Do you want to Side-Along-?"

"Nah, it makes me sick," he admitted. "I know where it is. I- do you... er... just want to meet there?"

"If that's best for you, sure," she said. Keith nodded. Tonks, on impulse, leaned across and kissed him. He started and looked up, surprised. "See you in a minute," she said, grinning and then, before he could do more than stare at her, she twisted on the spot.

She Apparated into her front garden – Mum would be so pleased she hadn't come straight into the house – cheeks pink and hair probably a similar colour. She clambered out of Mum's flowerbed – that, Mum would not be so happy about – and made her way to the front door. She'd just knocked when a flustered Keith showed up.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi," she said back, grinning.

The door opened and Dad appeared, looking confused. It was probably her use of the front door that was doing it.

"Dora?" His eyes flicked to Keith and he smiled politely.

"Hi, Dad," she said. "This is Keith."

"Hi," Keith said, looking nervous. "It's nice to meet you." Dad offered his hand and Keith shook it.

"You too. Hufflepuff, right?"

"Yes, sir."

"None of that. Ted's fine. I was in Hufflepuff too."

"Who is it?" That was Mum, peering out of the living room. She spotted Keith before Tonks and came out to introduce herself. "Andromeda Tonks," she said, holding out her hand. Keith shook it and Mum turned to Tonks, smiling; despite having been out of pureblood circles for many years now, Mum had retained some of their niceties and had probably expected Keith to kiss her hand – she'd told Tonks once, years ago, that that was the traditional greeting for a witch and wizard who'd never met.

"Nice to meet you, Mrs Tonks." Unlike Dad, Mum didn't ask him to call her by her first name.

"And you. I must say, it's about time; I've been asking Nymphadora to bring you around for weeks."

"Really?" Keith asked, giving Nymphadora a sideways look. She flashed him a small smile. "Well, I'm glad to finally be here."

"Are we really going to just stand here in the doorway?" Tonks asked. "Let's go inside, eh?"

"Of course," Mum said, stepping back to let them in. "How was training, dear?"

"Interesting," Tonks said. "I... er... went to Paris."

"Paris?" Dad echoed. "What in Merlin's name were you doing there?"

"A mess with a Veela," Tonks sighed. "Meanwhile Sirius was spotted in London and every Auror was called out of the office to look for him."

"Where were you in Paris?" Mum asked curiously.

"Er..."

Mum clicked her tongue. "It doesn't matter what eyes you use, you don't see a thing, do you?"

"I use my eyes!" she said defensively. "Constant vigilance and all that. You know what I did see?"

"What?" Dad and Keith asked together.

"A pink dog," Tonks said. "It was brilliant. Like my animal soul mate-"

"Tea, anyone?" Mum asked, sounding tired all of a sudden.

"Yes, if you're making it," Keith said.

"I'll have one, Dromeda," Dad said.

"No thanks," Tonks said brightly. She grabbed Keith's arm. "While Mum's getting that ready, I'll show you the house."

She led him down the hall, pointing at doors on the way. "That's the living room... the bathroom... the kitchen's just through there... that's Mum's study... the second bathroom... Mum and Dad's room... my room... the spare room... and that door goes out to Dad's garden."

A loud yowl followed her last words.

"Is that your cat?" asked Keith, who'd known Canis at school. Tonks tapped the door with her wand to unlock it and pulled it open. Canis trotted forward, tail in the air and then paused. His eyes darkened and his ears folded back as he and Tonks stared at each other. He hissed – unsurprisingly – and slunk forward, hardly sparing Keith a glance as he passed them.

"He's been grumpier than usual, lately," Tonks said, glaring after him; Canis had reached the kitchen and Mum's coos were echoing out.

"Do you think he misses school?"

"Dunno. He probably misses being able to wander wherever he wants. I think he misses Charlie though. And probably Hagrid and Filch."

"Filch?" Keith asked in disbelief.

Tonks shrugged. "The man likes unpleasant cats and unpleasant cats like him."

"Nymphadora! Bring Keith down for tea!"

"If she calls me that one more time," Tonks muttered under her breath, "I swear to Merlin that-"

"Hmm?" Keith said.

"Nothing," she sighed. "This way."

* * *

_Lights are on. That's a good sign, right?_

Padfoot prowled forward, listening carefully. He heard Remus' tense laugh, followed by a small noise of amusement from Harry. There were no other scents around and no other voices, so Padfoot thought it was safe to go inside.

He barked once, knowing Remus would hear it, and then bounded forward to scratch at the front door. There were footsteps inside and then the door opened slowly. Brown eyes peered out. Padfoot wedged his head through the gap and stood up on two legs, like Sirius might, and woofed a greeting.

"About time," Remus muttered, but he was grinning and relief was coming off him in waves. He stepped aside and Padfoot dropped back to the ground and walked in. Footsteps were the only warning he had, before two arms caught him around the neck and a Harry-shaped-mass collided with him at full force.

"I'm sorry! I never thought- I just- It's my fault! It's all my-"

_His fault? How in Merlin's name did he work that one out? _Padfoot shook his head, whined totshow he disagreed and licked his godson's face. He even lifted a paw to pat awkwardly at Harry's back – hugs weren't exactly easy to return as a dog.

Eventually Harry let go and Padfoot changed back into Sirius. A shadow bloomed in his mind – it was the Dementor's Draught – but he shoved it away. Harry stared at him, eyes enormous and bolted toward the fire, startling Hedwig, who'd been perched on the mantel. She want to sit on the back of one of the kitchen chairs instead and gave them a disapproving look.

_He's afraid of me_, a voice that sounded a bit like his whispered.

_Shut up, _Sirius snapped, knowing it was the potion that had made him think that. _He's probably goot a perfectly good reason. _"Harry?" Sirius asked.

"Magic," Harry said, backing toward the mantel. His eyes landed on the little bowl of Floo powder Remus kept there. "You just- the Trace!"

_Told you_, Sirius told the voice. "Relax, kiddo. It won't set it off."

"Are you sure?" Harry asked. He glanced at the front door as if he expected Aurors to come charging in at any moment.

"Positive," Sirius promised. "It's undetectable magic, which is why you're supposed to register."

"Otherwise Animagi might do stupid, dangerous things, like run around with werewolves," Remus said sombrely. Sirius pulled a face and sat down on the couch, pretending not to see the wink that Remus gave Harry.

"I'm sorry," Harry said, staring at the floor.

"For what?" Sirius asked, swapping a confused look with Remus.

"I told you to go early. If I hadn't-"

"I would have gone anyway," Sirius told him. Remus' lips thinned but he appeared to be fighting a smile.

_Yes, _the voice agreed. _Because you're stupid, selfish-_

"Shut up." Harry gave him an odd look. "Sorry. You didn't force me to go anywhere, kiddo. I did that all on my own." Harry opened his mouth to argue but Sirius held up a hand. "I don't want to hear any more about it. It's not your fault and we're all safe. All right?"

"All right," Harry agreed, without much conviction. He gave Sirius one more wary look and then came to sit beside him.

"Well done for making it here, by the way," Remus added. Harry offered him a small smile.

"How did things go after we separated?" Sirius asked Remus. "Did they believe you?" Remus sombre expression wasn't faked this time.

"Nymphadora and Debbie weren't there and Dirk and Arabella fell for it, but Matt knows."

"Explain," Sirius growled, fear prickling in his chest. _He's betrayed you_, the voice murmured. "Now."

"He could smell it," Remus sighed, sitting down on the couch opposite the one Sirius and Harry were on. "He doesn't know specifics," he added hastily. "Just that we're in contact and that you obviously aren't an evil Death Eater that's training Harry up to replace Voldemort." Sirius wrinkled his nose. "He's not one to go running to the _Prophet_ or anything."

"Who is he?"

"Matthew Rosier." Sirius stiffened.

"Any relation to Evan?"

"Nephew," Remus replied evenly. He stood and retrieved a photograph of himself and a younger boy who looked remarkably like Evan Rosier, though Sirius didn't think Rosier had ever smiled so sincerely. There were other, smaller differences he noticed, like the boy's nose and jaw, and the fact that he was wearing muggle clothing. Sirius supposed it was a bit like comparing Andy and Bella. "They never met, though," Remus continued. "Matt's father was a blood-traitor and Matt was bitten by Greyback as punishment."

"Hang on," Sirius said, recognising the face; it had been younger when he'd last seen it. "Is he the werewolf kid you teach? The one that didn't go to Hogwarts?" Remus inclined his head. Sirius paused to think. Logically, he knew the boy probably wasn't a boy anymore – just as Nymphadora and Harry had not stayed the children they'd been before Azkaban – but he still felt he had to ask. "How old is he now?"

"Nineteen."

Sirius set the photograph down and tried not to show how much that answer rattled him; sometimes, he thought he'd done well recovering from Azkaban's effects. He was still thin, but he was healthy at least, his face wasn't waxy or yellow anymore, and Harry – simply by being there – was able to provide companionship and a distraction on Sirius' bad days – those were getting further and further apart. Other times, like now, he was reminded rather abruptly that – while his world had stopped while he was in prison – the world outside had continued at its usual pace.

"Who's Greyback?" Harry asked. Sirius wondered if he'd asked it to distract Sirius, or if he was genuinely curious. He thought it might be both. "You mentioned him to Snape," he said, looking at Padfoot, "and you were talking about him in the kitchen the other day."

"Greyback is a werewolf, Harry," Remus said. "Quite possibly the most savage one alive today. He was the one who attacked me when I was young. At first I thought it was an accident, that he'd just lost control. Later, I learned he'd done it to punish my father. My father was very high up in the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, you see, and Greyback wanted him to pass a law-"

"What law?" Harry asked. _And there's Lily's patience_, Sirius thought fondly.

"I was getting to that," Remus said, smiling; Sirius thought he might be thinking the same thing. Harry flushed. "A law that gave him instant guardianship over underage werewolves. My father refused, for all the good it did; Greyback bites children anyway and when their parents can't handle the lycanthropy, Greyback takes them away and raises them in his camps, to hate and fear wizards."

"Why?"

"Because with enough werewolves following him, he could overthrow the wizarding population, or so he believes."

"Overthrow- He- Why?" Harry seemed to be struggling to understand.

"You haven't been in the wizarding world long enough to appreciate how deeply some of the prejudices run," Remus told Harry gently. "My kind – werewolves – are hated and feared. Some of that can be blamed on Greyback and his followers, but much of it was around long before his time." Harry, Sirius noticed, still looked blank. Remus glanced at Sirius, who gestured for him to continue, and sighed.

"Greyback thought werewolves were treated unfairly and that something should be done about it. Oddly enough, he started out with the right idea, although that's about as right as he ever got; he thought, if he infected a handful of people, that he could force the wizarding world to see that our two species aren't so different.

"We have – as you said just the other day, Harry – 'a bit of a problem' every month, but we're human the rest of the time. He thought if he created new werewolves, that they could attest to that. Some of them did. Others of them hated him for what he'd done to them.

"He went about it the wrong way from the very beginning, of course, but when he attempted to bite the Minister of the time - a man named Nobby Leach - any of the progress he might have made was undone. He spent a month in Azkaban – he never actually hurt the Minister, after all – and when he was released, he'd changed. It wasn't a lack of understanding that was the problem, it was people themselves."

"Where in Merlin's name did you hear that?" Sirius demanded.

"The camp," Remus sighed. "One of the men there is Greyback's first victim. He's an absolute nutter, always going on about how his poor 'father' was forced to spend a month in Azkaban."

"A month," Sirius said, rather bitterly. "Yes, poor fucking Greyback." Remus smiled without humour and Harry was pale.

"What happened next?" Harry whispered, edging ever so slightly closer to Sirius as he asked. Sirius reached out and put an arm around him and the soft warmth of Harry's jumper helped to chase away some of his irritation. He wasn't even sure who he was irritated with, though he suspected it might be an effect of the Dementor's Draught.

"Greyback started building his army," Remus said. "When Voldemort came along, he offered Greyback victims in return for service-"

"Service?"

"To keep his followers and his enemies in line. People were afraid of Greyback and fear, unfortunately, is a great motivator. Few people were prepared to challenge Voldemort because they were afraid he'd set Greyback on their families. His followers were extremely loyal because those who weren't, were at risk of the same thing."

"How come Greyback liked Voldemort?"

"Protection, partially, but-"

"Free food," Sirius muttered, wrinkling his nose.

Remus twisted his mouth. "Indeed. The other reason is that their goals were aligned. Thank Merlin it never got to this stage, but _if_ Voldemort had won, I'd have been morbidly interested to see how long the 'peace' would have lasted; Greyback would have turned on Voldemort the moment his... support... stopped being useful, and Voldemort would have turned on Greyback at the first sign of betrayal." Harry shivered against Sirius' side.

"Did-" Harry bit his lip, hesitating and then ploughed forward. "The camp you talked about... Did you... When you weren't at Hogwarts, were you...?"

"I stayed with my parents – in this very cottage, actually." Harry twitched, apparently surprised, and glanced around again. "They were... about as understanding as anyone could be. My mother was a Healer and she took care of me, and my father, as I mentioned, worked in the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures and so had access to a lot of information concerning werewolves. He was in contact with a number of witches and wizards who were developing cures." Remus chuckled. "The number of things he had me try over the years..."

Sirius scratched the scar on his neck. Remus caught the movement and grimaced.

"Did any of them work?"

"None of the cures. There is, however, a potion, called the Wolfsbane-"

"I know about that one,' Harry said. Sirius stared at him. _He _didn't even know about that one, but he knew a man named Belby had been working on a potion with that name. "A guy made it for his wife so that she could keep her mind on full moons." Sirius and Remus shared a surprised but impressed look.

"How-?" Sirius asked.

"I knew Moony wasn't an Animagus so I was looking for other things that could turn him into a wolf," Harry said, shrugging. "Potions seemed like a fair guess. I mean, you can make someone's hair change colour, so why not the rest of them? It was the only potion under 'wolf'."

"So Belby finally worked it out, did he?" Sirius asked; he'd been present for a few of the not so successful trials.

"He did," Remus confirmed. "It's ridiculously expensive and it's complicated, but it does work. I imagine it's similar to being an Animagus, but as I'm not an Animagus, I can't be certain."

"I've got the money," Sirius said immediately.

_So you have to buy your friends, do you?_

"Sirius-"

_I'm not listening to you._

"Moony, you wouldn't be protesting if you'd seen how much I have."

"You wouldn't," Harry agreed.

"Having you around has much the same effect anyway," Remus said. "Although, it could be different this time if I'm angry about James instead of upset."

"Well, the offer's standing," Sirius said. Remus smiled.

"So, the camps?" Harry prompted.

"Sorry, Harry. No, to answer your question. I didn't spend any time in the camps until I joined the Order." He smiled. "I was very lucky that my parents could handle my condition, and that they were willing to. Your parents, Harry, would no doubt have taken it in their stride, and your grandparents – on either side, actually, even though Lily's parents were muggles, would have learned to cope, I think – but not many other families would have."

"Mine wouldn't have," Sirius said.

_No, and why should they? You're useless, a waste of space-_

_James didn't think so, _Sirius thought, firmly. What he considered his real family - the Potters - would have, as Remus had said, accomdated him. The Blacks – minus Regulus – were a different story.

"They'd have been glad to see me go. In fact, they'd probably have-"

"Sirius, Harry doesn't need to hear about unpleasant-"

"He knows most of it," Sirius said, flapping a hand. "He's met the portrait of my mother. And Kreacher's come a_long_ way since we moved in."

"Even so," Remus said, pursing his lips, "it's probably better that he doesn't hear-"

"I'm not a baby," Harry said quietly, looking at Remus.

If Sirius hadn't had his arm around Harry, hadn't had physical proof that Harry was there, he'd have sworn – on his life - the speaker was James. Remus, too, looked rattled, but composed himself quickly.

"Harry, if I believed that, I wouldn't have told you about Greyback," he said. "I'm just suggesting that Sirius shouldn't tell you everything - about that, at least."

"Why not?" Harry asked.

"Because, as your godfather, it's his job to shelter you from stories like that."

"So you think I shouldn't hear about kids being sent to bed hungry because their relatives don't like them, or told not to ask questions-" The worst part wasn't what Harry was saying. It was the way he said it; not angrily, or bitterly, but calmly – with a hint of exasperation that made Sirius think he cared more about the impact the words would have on Remus, than about the things that had happened. It made Sirius want to break something. "-or locked in a cupboard for a week-"

Remus' head snapped around. "I never knew that," he said, staring at Sirius. "Why- why didn't you ever say anything?"

"He's not talking about me," Sirius said through clenched teeth.

_You left him there, you let that happen..._

"And he left off that he was told that James and Lily died in a car crash, and that he _hadn't_ been told that he was magical," Sirius said, doing his best to ignore the potion. Everything seemed to go silent. It hadn't been overly loud before – it had just been them talking – but somehow the lack of noise seemed more pronounced.

"No..." Remus said, turning to look at Harry, who shrugged, but held his gaze. Remus swallowed noisily, not seeming sure what to say. His eyes were very bright.

"If the way the Dursleys gave me to Padfoot was any indication," Harry murmured, "then I think they'd have given me to Greyback even if I wasn't a werewolf." Remus sank into the back of his couch.

"I'm so, so very sorry. I didn't know," he whispered, shaking his head. Harry shrugged. "I knew they were unpleasant but... Harry, I swear, if I'd had any idea, I would have done... well, something. Probably kidnapped you myself, before this prat could."

He flashed a smile at Sirius to show there was no sting behind the words, but it didn't reach his eyes; he was obviously still quite shaken. Sirius couldn't blame him. He had been too.

Harry shrugged. "It doesn't matter now. Not really." He gave Sirius a brilliant smile and Sirius squeezed his shoulder.

"But-" Remus began, but Sirius caught his eye and shook his head; Harry had shrugged several times in the last few minutes and Sirius knew him well enough to recognise it as a warning sign. Remus swallowed again. "Have you told him about the night you ran away?" he croaked finally, looking at Sirius. Sirius inclined his head.

"But not specifics." If he ever told Harry about that night, it wouldn't be until he was much, much older. Remus nodded and looked relieved.

The three of them were silent. Remus was staring at nothing in particular and opened his mouth to say something several times before thinking better of it. Harry was watching the photographs on Remus' mantel with an unreadable expression. Sirius was thinking, rather morbidly, about what a messed up pair he and his godson were- all three of them, actually.

_But we're healing. Slowly, but we're getting there. And Harry's young. Young enough that the years of his life that he remembers the best will be good ones. _Sirius silently promised to make sure of that.

Remus cleared his throat and looked at Harry. Harry watched him curiously.

"You know," he said, "I had a horrible aunt too." Harry cocked his head and Remus smiled ruefully. "Aunt Catherine. I think she 'died' some twenty times during my years at Hogwarts to excuse my monthly absences. It was petty, but it made up, somewhat, for the way she treated me. She didn't approve of my being a werewolf, you see."

Harry was smiling slightly and seemed to realise that Remus was trying to make amends for suggesting Harry was too young to hear certain stories. Sirius also supposed, that Harry - whose relatives hadn't approved of him being a wizard - could relate.

"Now who's sharing childhood traumas?" Sirius muttered.

"I always was a hypocrite," Remus said wryly.

"She deserved every 'death' Remus gave her," Sirius told Harry; he'd met Remus' Aunt Catherine over the Easter holidays in his third year. He and Remus had cast a trickly little charm on her chocolate eggs which made them impossible to bite into; they'd enjoyed several minutes of watching the egg contort out of the way of her mouth – to her great irritation – and then made it explode, coating her in sticky, strawberry scented goo. "Horrible cow."

Harry muttered something that sounded like, "Aunt Marge."

"Hmm?" Sirius asked.

Harry shrugged. "Nothing."

_Nothing my arse. I'll ask later, when you think I've forgotten. _Sirius hid a grin._ Just you wait._

"Catherine moved to France a few years ago," Remus said, rather cheerfully. "Haven't seen her since."

"How are your parents?" Sirius asked. As he said it, he realised that Remus lived alone here, and that his parents hadn't been wealthy enough to buy another house without selling the one they owned. Remus wasn't well enough off to buy it from them, either. Sirius winced. "I'm sorry, Moony-" he began.

_See, you can't even open your mouth without being insensitive._

_Shut up!_

"It's all right – you didn't know." Remus took a deep breath. "My mother actually was sick, in the end." He laughed bitterly. "Cancer. It's a muggle disease but she was muggleborn, so..." He cleared his throat. "She died three years ago. My father wasn't ever the same. Matt – the same Matt that knows now, Sirius-" he added, "- helped me look after him until..."

"I'm sorry," Sirius said, feeling like a complete prat.

"It's all right," Remus assured him.

It was silent again. This time, Sirius plotted ways that he could coax a story about Aunt Marge out of his godson; when he'd got the truth about Lily's sister's family out of him, Harry had been rather emotional and thus more willing to speak. That and Sirius had promised him a story or favour in return – which Harry had not yet asked for, Sirius realised – but he didn't think that would work this time.

He glanced sideways; Harry was frowning at his trainers and smelled thoughtful. Sirius couldn't identify any scents stronger than that, but that wasn't surprising; sometimes – but certainly not always - when a person was deep in thought, the emotions they were feeling didn't always become physical, because the person was so focused, mentally.

What did interest Sirius was that Harry had quite willingly shared some of the worse details about the Dursleys with Remus. He didn't think Harry was suddenly opening up – he was still a reasonably private person. Perhaps Harry was feeling emotional now? He'd had a big day, after all. Or perhaps he was just starting to trust Remus. Remus was easy to trust and he'd known Harry for a few weeks now. Or perhaps-

"The cupboard," Remus said quietly, breaking the silence.

"What?" Harry and Sirius asked together.

"You said he'd be in a cupboard," Remus murmured, looking at Sirius. "That was why, wasn't it?"

"Oh," Sirius said, understanding now. "Er, yeah."

"You were right, you know," Remus added. "He was in the spare room."

Sirius smiled and turned to look at Harry, who'd suddenly gone very still; no doubt he was embarrassed. He blinked and the smile slipped off. Harry's face was not red, but the colour of parchment.

"What is it?" Sirius asked, twisting to get a better look at his face. Harry swallowed and his eyes darted from Sirius to Remus.

"I- er..." He swallowed again and ran a hand through his hair, in an agitated sort of manner, rather than in the habitual manner James had had. Harry cleared his throat and stood. "There's... er... something I think you should see."


	27. An Ingenious Plan

"I don't know," Moony muttered; he and Padfoot were holding a whispered conversation a few feet behind Harry.

"What do you mean you don't know?!" Padfoot hissed. "It's your bloody house! Surely you know everything that's in it!"

Moony was silent for a moment and then a soft, "Oh!" escaped him.

"What?" Padfoot asked, but Moony didn't say anything.

Harry opened the door to the spare bedroom. He felt odd doing this – it wasn't his house, after all, and he really shouldn't be leading the other two around in it as if it was – but he thought that showing and then telling would work better than telling and then showing. He just hoped that Moony wouldn't mind Harry going through his things; he hadn't meant to find the box. _It just sort of... happened_, he thought guiltily.

Harry headed straight for the cupboard he'd hidden in earlier.

"This was your parents' old room, wasn't it?" Padfoot asked Moony.

"A guest room now," Moony replied, as Harry pulled a large box out into the middle of the room. "It is," he said, more to himself than anyone else.

Harry lifted the cardboard lid off, set it down and then reached in and pulled out a mirror the size of a small book.

"Do you mind?" he asked Moony, nervously. Moony shook his head and gestured for Harry to do as he pleased; he seemed to have forgotten how to talk. Wordlessly, Harry passed the mirror to Padfoot.

"That's not possible," he whispered. His hands trembled. "I saw him. _You_ saw him." Harry bit his lip and fished another object out of the box. It was a photograph, the same photograph that he and Padfoot had been seeing through the mirror for the last few months. Harry had been right about Lily being there. She was standing off to one side, out of the mirror's line of sight, apparently talking to James. Padfoot stared at it and let out a noisy breath. "So, this is where it went, huh?"

"Where what-"

"Lily and James' things," Padfoot said softly. "How did you end up with everything?"

"Peter 'died'," Moony said, "and you went to Azkaban... Rightfully, it should have gone to you, Harry, but Dumbledore said your aunt wouldn't have any of it in the house."

"No surprises there," Harry muttered, glancing at the photograph of his parents again. Both beamed and waved at him. He waved back, shyly.

"I'd forgotten all of this was in here," Moony murmured, crouching down beside the box. He pulled out a dusty textbook and then tossed it back in. "I didn't want any of it, to be honest – too many painful memories – but it was that or the Ministry get everything..."

"Can we put it away?" Padfoot asked, dropping the mirror back into the box. His voice sounded rather shaky. "There's- we'll go through it later, but-"

"Not now," Moony croaked, nodding. Harry slowly replaced the photograph. Moony picked the lid up and covered the box again. He carried it back to the cupboard and closed the door, while Harry watched. He was curious about the box but he was prepared to wait; he'd waited eight years already, hadn't he? And he'd had longer ot get over the shock of finding it than the other two.

Harry followed Padfoot back out into the main part of the cottage. Padfoot sat down on the couch and put his head in his hands. For a moment Harry thought he might be crying, but he wasn't making any noise and he wasn't shaking. Moony re-entered a moment later, glanced at Padfoot, and went straight to the kitchen bench at the back of the room.

There was some rummaging through cupboards as Moony searched for matches and then a frustrated sigh. Moony, very apologetically, asked Harry to go outside and into the forest until he could only just see the cottage, count slowly to one hundred and then come back.

"Sorry, couldn't risk the Trace," Moony said sheepishly, as Harry walked in. "Here."

"Thanks," Harry said, taking the tea cup. He sat down next to Padfoot, who had his own mirror out and was staring into its dark screen; it appeared to be showing the side of the box. "Padfoot?"

"Yeah, kiddo?" Padfoot asked, looking up.

"Are you-"

"Fine," Padfoot said, with an attempt at a smile. "Thanks, Moony," he added, as Moony passed him a steaming cup.

Harry and Moony made feeble attempts at starting a conversation again but Padfoot didn't even seem to hear them and Harry could see Moony's heart wasn't in it. _I did this, _he thought, glancing between the pair of them. _I upset them. And I sent Padfoot to Marlene's. Snape would say he deserved it but Snape's a git. And Kreacher..._

"Sorry," he said. "What was I saying?"

"Hmm?" Moony asked. "Sorry, I missed that."

"Never mind." Harry stood up and took his tea to the kitchen bench. "Am I allowed to go for a walk?" he asked.

"I don't see why not," Moony said. "Just... er... stay within sight of the cottage, all right?"

"Fine," Harry said. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket and strode toward the door.

"Harry." Harry turned slowly to look at Padfoot. "Do you have your wand, just in case?" Harry nodded and fled.

He paced several laps of the garden, ventured into the forest and out again and eventually wound up under an old tree at the bottom of the garden. He wedged himself into the earthy gap between two knarled roots and stared out at the forest without really seeing, plucking at the grass that grew near his trainers.

Much later, when the sky was dark and the waning moon had been up for several hours, Padfoot came to join him.

"I'm sorry," he said, without preamble, as he joined Harry at the base of the tree. Harry cocked his head and squinted to try to focus on Padfoot's face. It was too dark to make out his expression.

"For...?" Harry asked, confused.

"Everything," Padfoot said miserably. "I promised you a good life when I took you form your aunt and uncle-"

"It is a good life," Harry said at once. "I love living with you."

"Thanks, kiddo," he said and then sniffed. "It's this stupid potion – it's like there's a Dementor living in my head or something and it makes me... think things sometimes." Harry didn't say anything; this was the first time Padfoot had spoken about it. "One minute I'm happy and then all of a sudden I'm miserable. I can't control it."

"The hot chocolate helps, but it's in my head. I don't know what I'm supposed to do about it and I'm terrified that I'm going to go mad before it wears off, because it's there all the time. It's better when I'm a dog, but the moment I change back, it's there again. Not even real Dementors were like that; they came and went but this is there full time-"

"How do you fight Dementors?" Harry asked suddenly, staring at the trees. "I know you treat their effects with chocolate, but how do you actually fight them?" He never had picked that book about Dementors up again after his disastrous night at Snape's.

"They don't particularly like fire," Padfoot said, shrugging. He'd calmed down quite a bit. "But usually a Patronus will do it."

"A what?"

"It's a spell. It- it basically conjures a... protector, out of your happy memories."

"So why don't you cast one?" Harry asked.

"Your Trace," Padfoot said. His teeth flashed in the darkness; he was grinning. The mood swings were rather disconcerting.

"Padfoot-"

"I know, I know. Couldn't help myself." Padfoot sighed. "A few reasons. The first is I'm sort of starved for happy memories at the moment. There's you and Moony, of course – oh, and Kreacher, I suppose - but even without this... thing in my head, everything else is sort of... well, fucked."

"I'm sorry about Marlene," Harry said.

"I don't think any of us could have seen that coming. I mean, who just gets up and joins the Aurors after eight year at home, alone?" Padfoot chuckled. It was strained, but it was still a laugh. "Anyway, the second and more important reason is that a Patronus is a physical thing. It's not going to do much good inside my- head..." Padfoot jumped to his feet.

"What?" Harry asked.

"I've got to talk to Remus –I don't even know if it's possible, but I might have an idea!" He dashed back toward the house, shouting for Moony. Harry stared after him, completely and utterly confused, and also a little concerned. The potion had never made him happy before.

Harry stood, deciding he'd better make sure Padfoot was all right.

Padfoot did indeed seem to be all right. When Harry entered, he looked up, beamed, and then went back to talking animatedly to Moony.

"- but is it possible?" he asked, leaping up to pace.

"I've never heard of anything like this," Moony said, but he looked interested.

"Well, obviously," Padfoot said pompously. He flopped back down onto the couch. "Someone as ingeniously clever as myself only comes along once every few millennia." He was practically shaking with excitement, though. "You don't have any books on either, do you?"

"I have one on basic Occlumency," Moony said, shifting over so Harry could sit down beside him; Padfoot was up and down so much that Harry was in danger of being sat on if he was on the other couch.

"Really?" Padfoot asked, looking stunned. "What were you doing with that?"

"Attempting to suppress my wolfish side on full moons. I needed another solution after..."

"Any luck?" Padfoot asked, looking amused, despite the reference to Halloween.

"Some," Moony admitted. "I did actually manage to separate my human mind from my wolf one – I locked my human mind in a cage of silver – but I couldn't block it off completely because the wolf _is_ me. I ended up with a splitting headache because I was trying to act on both at once. Thankfully, Belby finally got his act together and made the Wolfsbane potion workable and I could use that every few months to give myself a break."

"Genius," Padfoot said. Then, he grinned. "What are the odds that _two_ ingeniously clever people are born in the same-"

"If you finish that sentence, I won't show you where I keep the book," Moony warned. Harry sniggered. Padfoot pouted. "And you'll certainly want the book, because you won't have access to Grimmauld's library for at least a few days." Padfoot opened his mouth, and sucked in a noisy breath. Moony and Harry waited.

"_Fine_," he said, exhaling.

"It's in the bookcase in my bedroom," Moony said. Padfoot bounded to his feet. "Fetch," Moony added. Padfoot arched an eyebrow and disappeared into the other part of the cottage.

"You shouldn't have said that," Harry told Moony.

"What could he possi-" At that moment, a black mass of fur bounced back into the room, with Moony's book held securely between his teeth. "Sirius!" Moony squawked, while Harry roared with laughter. "Put it down- drop it! You're getting it all wet!" Padfoot dropped the book in Moony's lap and gave him an enormous lick on the cheek before jumping up. His wagging tail hit Harry's shoulder.

"Padfoot," Harry said, swatting his tail as it knocked his glasses.

"I forgot what a prat you are," Moony lamented, drying his face and then the book with his sleeve. "Other than this morning, you've been so quiet... and _well-behaved_," he added, shoving Padfoot's nose away from the book. "You're not having this back until you transform." Padfoot whined. "And get off! You're crushing us both!"

He gave Padfoot's shoulder a push. Padfoot hardly moved. In fact, he stretched, and sat down, draped across the pair of them, and began to nose the book again.

"I give up," Moony said. He managed to extract himself and stood. As he turned toward the kitchen, Harry thought he saw a smile.

"Here," Harry laughed, reaching for the book. Padfoot turned around so that he was facing Harry. "Tell me when you want the page turned." He opened the book, resting it against the arm of the couch and Padfoot started to read. Whenever he wanted the page turned, he'd make a quiet whuffing noise and Harry would oblige.

Moony suddenly stopped whatever he was doing in the kitchen and disappeared into the hallway. Assuming he was just using the bathroom, Harry went back to turning pages. Several minutes later, however, there was a quiet click, and Moony vanished down the hall again, holding what looked suspiciously like a camera. Harry scowled but it was too late to do anything now – the picture had already been taken - and he was too comfortable to move anyway.

Padfoot whined and nudged his hand and Harry settled back into the couch.

* * *

Harry and Padfoot spent three nights at Moony's cottage, just to be sure they wouldn't arrive home while the Aurors were searching it. Moony had been out with Malfoy's search on the Sunday and Monday mornings so that no one would get suspicious and so Harry and Padfoot had had the cottage to themselves for those times.

Harry was still curious about the box of his parents' things – particularly because he was sleeping in that bedroom, while Padfoot had taken the couch in the living room – but wasn't eager to bring it up again. He figured he'd wait until either Padfoot or Moony remembered it.

Padfoot still seemed intrigued by his Occlumency idea – Harry didn't completely understand it because Padfoot got so excited when he talked about it that he stopped making sense – and spent quite a lot of time poring over Moony's Occlumency book. He often did that in the afternoons, when Moony was around to keep Harry entertained – otherwise, Harry was left to struggle with Regulus' stupid puzzle.

Moony taught Harry how to play real Exploding Snap and also played Dumbledore's game. When they weren't doing that, Moony would take him for walks through the forest and tell him stories about his years at Hogwarts. Sometimes Padfoot joined them for the walks – sometimes he'd go as a human and he and Moony would bicker about who came up with the idea for what prank, or who said what, and other times he'd go as a dog and chase hares and birds for Harry's amusement.

With the exception of not being able to go home, and not knowing how Kreacher was, life was pretty good.

* * *

Rough hands shook Sirius awake on Tuesday morning.

"Wasgoinon?" he asked, blinking himself awake. Remus was standing over him, looking terrified.

"Get up! Get up!" Sirius was hauled unceremoniously off the couch and shoved out the front door. His wand landed with a clatter on the stone path and his pillow and blanket followed with a whump. The door slammed shut and then there were quick, thumping footsteps and the sound of another door slamming.

_What the bloody hell is going on?_ Sirius thought groggily, sliding down the door to the ground.

_He doesn't want you_, the Dementor's Draught whispered.

There was a whooshing sound, the sound of something hitting Moony's floorboards and then a cheerful voice said, "Sorry, I've got ash all over the place!" Sirius grabbed his wand.

_He's betrayed you._

"Don't worry about it-"

"Let me help; I know a charm-"

"No!" Moony shouted. "I... er... here, let me get a dustpan. Would you like anything? Food? A drink?"

_Looks like she's here for a while, then. _Sirius groaned and let his head fall back against the door.

"What was that?" the woman asked.

"Wind," Remus said.

"Oh, right. Er... I'll have tea if you're offering." There were noises inside – footsteps, Remus sweeping, the woman sitting down on one of the couches or maybe the armchair and also of running water and a match being lit; Remus had bought some when he was out so that Harry didn't need to go outside whenever they made tea. "I didn't wake you, did I?"

"No," Remus said. "Is Mad-Eye visiting too?"

_Mad-Eye? No, it can't be... _Sirius stuffed his blankets and pillows into the bushes that grew against the house and then got up as quietly as he could and crept around the back of the cottage so that he could peek through the window above the kitchen bench. He hoped Remus didn't mind he was somewhat trampling a shrub with clumps of white flowers to do so. Just as he tried to look in, however, the window opened and Hedwig was shooed out. Her wing clipped his cheek and he swore, ducking down.

"What are you _doing_?" Remus hissed in a voice too low for anyone but Sirius to hear. "If she sees you, we're both dead! And get off of my geraniums!" _It seems Remus does mind, _Sirius thought, sniggering. Remus made a frustrated noise and snapped the window shut. "Something seems to have been attacking my garden," he heard Remus say.

"I suppose you live close enough to the forest that things can just wander in," the woman – who Sirius suspected might be his cousin's daughter – said. He was desperate to talk to her, if that was the case – how often did he get that chance? – but wasn't sure how to go about that.

_Unless..._

_Yes, _he thought. _That'll work. I can talk to her and mortify_ _Moony at the same time. Serves him right for throwing me outside._

Sirius transformed and ran back around the front as a dog, and then continued down the stone path through the little gate that led to the forest. He ran until he couldn't see the house anymore and then transformed back and began casting spells to change his appearance, his voice, and his clothes; he transfigured his pyjama bottoms into a pair of long lacy robes and several pebbles into various pieces of gaudy jewellery.

He turned two more leaves – brown ones this time - into shoes and then tucked his wand into his pocket and headed back through the forest. It took him longer as a human but if he ran, he'd look ruffled and that wouldn't do if he wanted this to work. He practiced his walk on the way back, until it was just the way he remembered it.

He took a deep breath, lifted his chin and pushed the door open.

"Remus, darling," he said, not looking at either of them. He could smell Remus' shock and horror but it quickly changed into suspicion and then changed again into an odd mix between amusement and irritation.

_He doesn't want you here_, the potion whispered.

_I'm not even me, so shut up, _Sirius snapped. Astoundingly, it did. It had been a little weaker these past few days, ever since he'd come up with his idea, as if it knew its time was almost up. At least he hoped it was. There was a chance that it might not work.

"I really do wish you had come. It was lovely; there were all these little birds and I even saw a badger – a _badger_, Remu- Oh."

He allowed himself to look at Nymphadora – and it was her, because who else did he know that could have bright white hair and not look older than eighteen? If he remembered correctly, her hair went white when she was surprised. She certainly looked it; her mouth was hanging open and her eyes – dark like Ted's – were wide.

"Remus?" Sirius said accusingly. "Who is this? I thought you told me you weren't dating anyone!"

"I'm Tonks," Nymphadora said faintly. "And, we aren't-"

"A pleasure." Sirius said, holding out a hand for her to shake. Nymphadora looked at the long, purple nails Sirius had given himself and then shook. "Well," he huffed, looking at Remus, who still looked stunned, "I can see my useless nephew isn't about to introduce us. Honestly, I don't know _where_ his manners are this morning! I'm Catherine Lupin. I do hope Remus has at least offered you tea, dear."

"Y-yes," Nymphadora stuttered, sitting back down. "And breakfast." She gestured to her cup and plate of eggs. "I'm sorry. I didn't realise you had-" She shot Remus an apologetic look. "I can meet you at the Leaky-"

"Nonsense!" Sirius exclaimed. "Now, is it just Tonks or does something come before or after it?"

"Just Tonks," Nymphadora said.

Sirius clicked his tongue. "What _were_ your parents thinking? Tonks is no name for a young lady." He glanced at Remus who looked mortified. _Perfect, _Sirius thought. "Well?" he said. "Aren't you going to offer me a cup of tea and a plate of eggs too?" Remus stared. "And get my chair."

"Right." Remus stood up, face flaming, and pulled Sirius' chair out for him.

"Thank you, lovely," Sirius said, batting his eyelashes as he sat down.

"You're welcome," Remus said in a sugar-sweet voice that told Sirius that – if Nymphadora hadn't been there – he would have throttled him instead. Remus walked over to the kitchen, filled a cup, loaded a plate and brought both back. "So. How was your walk?"

"It was wonderful," Sirius said. On the inside, he was laughing so hard he was crying. On the outside, he was sure he looked like a pomous, older woman. "Next time you simply _must_ come with me."

"Y-yes," Remus said. "I'll do that." Sirius beamed at him. Remus stabbed his eggs.

"So," Sirius said, loading a tiny mouthful onto his fork. "How do you know Remus, Tonks? _Are _you dating him? I assure you, you can do better." Remus' forehead hit the table with a thump. "Dear, you'll get food in your hair. Sit up properly... there's a good boy." Remus looked longingly at his fork, as if he might stab Sirius with it.

"We're not dating," Nymphadora said. "We work together."

"Oh! You must be working for the Malfoy boy!"

"Yes," Nymphadora said carefully. Sirius was impressed she'd managed to keep her hair one colour for the whole conversation.

"Lovely," Sirius said, daintily nibbling a piece of egg off of the end of his fork. "You know, Remus, this silver really could use a good polish."

"It's not silver," Remus said. "It's steel. It doesn't need polishing."

"I suppose this is one of your muggle contraptions," Sirius said, glaring at his fork as if it had mortally offended him.

"Just eat," Remus sighed.

"I will," Sirius said haughtily. "I'm just making sure you're aware that I'm not happy about this steel situation." Nymphadora chuckled into her teacup. Sirius grinned into his. "So, are you any closer to finding that awful Black boy?"

Nymphadora looked at Remus. "Not really," he said.

"I remember him," Sirius told Nymphadora in the proud way old women have. "Good friends with Remus here. Such a charming boy. Good blood – the son of two Blacks if I remember rightly. Handsome boy, too," he couldn't help adding. "Such a shame, really, that he turned out so horrid! I never would have thought he'd do all those terrible things. I hear he's stealing children now!"

"Yes, he took Harry," Remus said. "James and Lily's son. Do you remember them?"

"James... Oh, yes! The Potter boy!" Sirius added, as if Nymphadora didn't already know that. "Lovely child, good blood, like Black, but he had horrendously untidy hair and those silly glasses – I don't know why his parents didn't take him to St Mungo's and just have his eyes fixed."

"You can't fix eyes," Remus said, smiling for the first time.

Nymphadora nodded. "You just put a spell on in the place of glasses and it has to be reinforced every few hours."

"Is that right?" Sirius asked.

"James was always scared it'd wear off somewhere he couldn't renew it," Remus said. Sirius had to fight not to smile. He'd forgotten about that.

"Scared?" he said instead. "And that boy was a Gryffindor, wasn't he? Goodness, how ridiculous. The Evans girl was a Gryffindor too, wasn't she? Brave girl, that one. You all went to school together, didn't you?" Remus nodded. "Very clever, wasn't she? How Potter managed to win her over is beyond me!"

"Patience," Remus said dryly.

"Perhaps," Sirius said primly, struggling to keep a smile off again. "But I suppose she was a muggleborn girl and he was a pureblood... it's not very often _that_ happens, is it?" As he'd hoped, Nymphadora cleared her throat. Sirius mentally praised himself; Remuc could argue all he wanted, but Sirius _was_ ingeniously clever.

"My parents are like that," she said.

"Are they really?" Nymphadora nodded. "And they're happily married?" Sirius asked, curious to hear about his favourite cousin. "Blood's never been a problem?"

"Not for them. Mum's family doesn't like it, but we don't see them."

"Hardly surprising," Sirius sniffed, cheering on the inside. "I'd be upset if any daughter of mine married below her social class... No offence, dear."

"None taken," Nymphadora said frostily. Sirius took a sip to hide his grin; Nymphadora was close to her parents, then.

"Well, thank you very much for the breakfast, Remus dear, and it was... interesting to meet you, Tonks." Nymphadora smiled but it was more like a grimace. Sirius didn't blame her; Aunt Catherine was an offensive woman, and he'd played her perfectly.

"Where are you going?" Remus asked, looking relieved he was leaving.

"To have a lie-down before my Portkey leaves," Sirius snapped, doing his best impersonation of a cranky old witch.

"You'll be gone when I come home, then?" Remus asked.

"My house elf will be fussing as it is," Sirius said. "And I, quite frankly, think I have performed my family duties. You're doing... ah, not well, but you're not dead, I suppose, so that's got to count for something." Nymphadora looked angry. "Yes, it's time I went home. Lovely as my walk was this morning, I smell like a forest and that simply won't do; I have a friend coming for dinner tonight. A very dear friend, and I shudder to imagine what he'd think if he saw me looking like this in my own home!"

"I'm sure he'd be horrified," Remus said, but his eyes were gleaming; he'd got the message that he was invited to dinner.

Sirius stuck his nose in the air, pulled open the door to the spare room and marched in. He heard Remus laughing and apologising to Nymphadora in the main part of the cottage and the sound of them clearing the table. Without magic, he hoped. In the room Sirius was in, however, a very nervous looking Harry was sitting stiffly in bed. Oddly, he wasn't wearing his glasses and it was strange to see him without them.

"Oh dear," Sirius said, still using Aunt Catherine's voice. _It's times like this that I love magic._ "I thought this was the bathroom."

"The... er... the bathroom's next door," Harry said.

"Thank you." Sirius turned, as if he was about to leave, and then stopped. "Do I know you?" Sirius asked, frowning at Harry.

"I don't think I've seen you before," Harry said apologetically.

"Hmph. Are you Remus' son? He never told me about any son-"

"I'm his nephew."

"Remus is an only child."

"No, he isn't," Harry said. His hand had disappeared under his pillow, where Sirius thought he might have put his wand. "Get Remus, he'll tell you."

"Very good," Sirius said approvingly.

"Sorry, what?" Harry asked.

"The Leaky Cauldron!" Nymphadora's voice said and the Floo whooshed in the main part of the house. Remus' voice said it shortly after.

"It's me, kiddo," Sirius said, grinning. Harry twitched at the name but continued to look politely confused.

"Who's me?" Harry asked.

"Sirius." Harry's eyes narrowed.

"I don't believe you." He hesitated and pulled out his wand. Sirius swore. "I heard people in the other room. You're an Auror, aren't you?"

"Kiddo, whatever you do, don't use that wand."

Harry's wand didn't move. "What pet did Dudley have on the night we left Privet Drive?"

"How the bloody hell am I supposed to know?!" Sirius grumbled. "Was it a toad?" Harry's expression hardened. "No, a tortoise! It was a tortoise!" Harry continued to look suspicious. "I have a feeling you and Mad-Eye are going to get on splendidly, if you ever have the chance to meet," Sirius said, running a hand through his hair. "Here, watch. _Don't_ hex me." He morphed into Padfoot and Harry relaxed.

"Why were you dressed like an old lady?" Harry asked, looking disgusted.

Sirius barked a laugh and transformed again so that he could answer. Harry burst out laughing; Sirius looked like himself again but he was still wearing Aunt Catherine's lacy black robes, heavy necklaces and ugly rings, since they weren't part of him, and hadn't been undone after his transformation.

"Oh, shut up," he told Harry, who was clutching his stomach. Harry promptly ignored him. "Fine," he muttered. "You want to laugh? I'll _make _you laugh."

"N-no!" Harry protested, as Sirius dove onto the bed and started to tickle him.

* * *

Remus stepped out of the fireplace in the Leaky Cauldron and almost trod on Nymphadora, who'd fallen flat on her face. He offered her a hand, which she accepted, blushing, and they made their way over to the usual table. Arabella and Matt were already there – Dirk didn't come on Tuesdays and Debbie only did afternoons on Tuesdays – and waved them over.

"How are you doing, Tock?" Matt asked. "Remus?"

"Good, thank you," Nymphadora said.

"Are you feeling better? Remus said you were sick on Saturday," Arabella said, giving her a sympathetic smile. Nymphadora shot Remus a grateful look, while Remus was a little perturbed about Arabella's acting abilities; she'd spent the last two days (since Nymphadora hadn't been there) asking whether they should trust her, and whether Remus had had a chance to ask about the way she'd disappeared just before Sirius 'showed up'.

"I'm feeling a lot better, thank you. My mother was glad for an excuse to fuss, I think." She shifted uncomfortably. "How've you all been?"

"Well, Mr Tibbles..." Arabella started to tell Nymphadora a story about one of her cats; whether she trusted her or not, Nymphadora was a willing set of ears for Arabella.

Matt was looking sharper today; the effects of his full moon medication had worn off fully now. He finished the last of the toast he had in front of him and pushed his plate away.

"He's safe, then?" he murmured, sniffing. Remus thought Harry was right; most people wouldn't notice the movement unless they knew to look for it. Remus inclined his head. "And that's still a good thing?" Remus nodded again. Matt grinned. "Just making sure."

"What are you grinning about?" Arabella asked.

"Remus is just telling me about his houseguest," Matt said easily.

"Oh," Nymphadora said, her expression darkening. "Her."

"Her?" Matt mouthed, looking confused.

"My Aunt Catherine," Remus said cheerfully. "Horrible woman. She's leaving today, thank Godric." He caught Matt's eye and winked. Matt's eyes widened and then he sniggered, obviously understanding.

"I'll stay with buses again today, Remus?" Arabella asked.

"If you'd like." Arabella stood and gave Remus a very pointed look before tilting her head at Nymphadora. Remus nodded and Arabella adjusted her handbag and left.

"Where should I go?" Matt asked.

"King's Cross is probably a good place to look," Remus said.

"But not to find," he heard Matt whisper. Nymphadora didn't hear it. Remus glanced up at Matt, and grinned, shaking his head. Matt grinned back and sauntered out of the pub.

"Ready?" Remus asked Nymphadora. She nodded and stood.

"We're just walking again, right?" Remus inclined his head. "So, have I missed anything? I didn't get a chance to ask with your aunt there..."

"I assume you've heard about Saturday?" Remus asked, pushing the pub door open.

She grimaced. "Moody's promised not to call me away today, no matter what happens... Speaking of Saturday, though, I might actually know more about it than you. Remember McKinnon that we were talking about?"

"Marlene?" Remus asked, pretending to look surprised.

"I've got to remember that," she muttered. "But yes, her." Nymphadora glanced around and lowered her voice. "Apparently, Sirius was in her house-"

"You're kidding! Is she all right?" Remus asked quickly. "Was she hurt?"

"She's fine," Nymphadora said, scuffing one of her shoes on the pavement as they waited to cross the road. "Apparently, though, she lives right next door to Sirius' Mum's old place."

"I knew that," Remus admitted. There was no point denying it since he'd been to both places in his school years. _And far more recently, but she doesn't need to know that..._

"I suppose you would," Nymphadora said, sounding thoughtful.

"I assume they searched it," Remus said carefully. Nymphadora nodded. "Did they find anything? Does it look like he and Harry have been there?"

"No," she said, her face falling. Her hair had a slightly blue tinge to it. "Apparently there's a grumpy painting, a crazy old house elf and lots of dust but not much else."

"Are they still searching it?" She shook her head.

"The last search was last night. Nothing's changed since the first one, so they've given up. Sirius is probably overseas by now."

"Probably," Remus agreed, sighing for effect.

"Lupin!"

"Oh, brilliant," Remus groaned. "First Aunt Catherine-" Other than the left out references about werewolves, Sirius had done an uncannily good job of being her (which Remus couldn't wait to tease him about). "-and now him." Nymphadora gave him a brief, sympathetic look before her expression became haughty; Lucius Malfoy was striding toward them, alone this time.

"Theodora," Malfoy said, giving her a polite smile.

"Mr Malfoy," Nymphadora replied, in a tone which matched his. "How are you, sir?"

"I need a word with Lupin, if that's all right."

_I am right here, you know_, Remus thought irritably. Instead, he smiled.

"Take as long as you need," Nymphadora said, smiling at Malfoy, as if she was relieved he was taking Remus away. "He can find me later."

"Where will you be?" Remus asked.

"You're the lead searcher," she said, arching an eyebrow. "I'm sure you'll work it out."

Malfoy smirked and gestured for Remus to follow him. He glanced back at Nymphadora who mouthed, "Sorry!" and "I'll be here!" at him. He gave her a reassuring smile and followed Malfoy back to the Leaky Cauldron.

"I've been thinking-" Malfoy began, sitting down at a table in the corner of the room. There were several witty responses Remus could have used but he swallowed all of them and sat down instead. "-about the Potter boy."

"What about him?" Remus asked carefully.

"You got to know him in the hospital, did you not?"

"I suppose so," Remus said. "Why?"

"What was the boy like?"

"He seemed fond of Sirius," Remus offered, since several people could confirm that. "And he got on well with Dumbledore..."

Malfoy sneered. "Did he?"

"Yes. Why the sudden curiosity?" Remus couldn't help asking.

"That's no concern of yours," Malfoy said coolly. "Based on what you saw, which House do you think he would fit into at Hogwarts?"

Remus had no idea. "I only knew him for a week-"

"Intelligence was – if I remember correctly – your singular, redeeming quality, Lupin," Malfoy drawled. "I would be troubled to learn you'd lost that too." Malfoy watched him for a moment. "An answer, please, Lupin."

"Give me a moment to think about it," Remus snapped.

Where would Harry belong? He wasn't overly bookish but, but he was still reasonably clever, maybe clever enough for Ravenclaw, but Remus couldn't be certain. He was loyal to Sirius - if his behaviour at St Mungo's had been any indication - and had worked hard to try to find a solution to the Dementor's Draught problem, like a Hufflepuff might.

His loyalty could also be a Gryffindor trait, particularly because Harry had been willing to step between Sirius and an unknown spell of Remus' back in May. He was brave too, for going to the cave, and the way he'd wanted to go to Marlene's the moment he heard Sirius was in danger showed the rashness of Gryffindors...

But then, Harry was also used to keeping secrets; that wasn't necessarily a Slytherin trait, because Remus had been used to secrets by that age too, but it could be... Harry'd tricked everyone with the tea in St Mungo's and he'd lied to them as well, which was a decidedly Slytherin thing to do, or so Remus thought. Loyalty was a Slytherin trait too; they were good at self-preservation, and if Harry didn't want to go back to his aunt and uncle's, Sirius was his best bet.

And he didn't like to be treated like a child – he'd made that obvious several times now – but that was a trait that could belong to any of the Houses; a Ravenclaw's thirst for knowledge, a Hufflepuff's desire for equality, a Gryffindor's want to be included, no matter what, or a Slytherin's fear of being overlooked.

"I really don't know," he said, and made a mental note to ask Sirius this very question at some point tonight.

"Guess," Malfoy snapped.

"Gryffindor," he said after a moment. Malfoy looked irritated. "Or maybe Slytherin."

"He's not plain enough for Hufflepuff," Malfoy said, nodding. "And he seemed to like company too much to be a Ravenclaw, or so I'm assuming. He must have been desperate to have someone around if he was willing to put up with you for an entire week."

"Hufflepuffs are anything but plain," Remus muttered, thinking of Nymphadora. "And if you knew all of this, why did you ask?"

"I wanted another opinion. The Minister suggested Gryffindor or Slytherin, his Junior Undersecretary thought Hufflepuff or Gryffindor and Dumbledore thought Gryffindor or Slytherin."

"Why do you want to know?" Remus asked again.

"I already told you that was none of your concern," Malfoy drawled. "Resume your searching. I have things to do."

Malfoy strode out to the courtyard that connected the pub to Diagon Alley. Remus watched him go, wondering what in Godric's name he was up to.

For a moment, Remus considered following him but decided it wasn't worth it. He'd just have to remember to keep a closer eye on Malfoy from now on.

Sighing, he got to his feet and left the pub, headed back to where he hoped Nymphadora was still waiting. He could use some good company after that little ordeal.

* * *

"Lucius?" Narcissa knocked once on her husband's study door and then pushed it open. Lucius was sitting at his desk – that was hardly surprising – but what did surprise her was the man standing before the desk. "Hello, Severus," she said, arching an eyebrow.

"Narcissa," he said, bowing slightly. Narcissa gave Lucius a suspicious look but he didn't see it; he only sought Severus' counsel when something was troubling him, or if there was something wrong with Draco. Since she knew Draco was currently harassing Dobby in the kitchen – though she'd told him not to treat the elf that way – and was therefore perfectly happy, it was obviously the former.

"Is everything all right?" she asked, going to stand beside Lucius. She picked up his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"Continue with what you were saying, Severus," Lucius said. Severus looked mildly annoyed to be ordered around but said nothing.

"There is nothing more I can tell you," he said. "The Hat is protected by ancient magic from any spells or potions that might change its mind. It cannot be tricked. I've heard of it taking a child's preferences into account but I believe that to be rumour. If a child does not belong somewhere, it will not place them there."

"You're certain?"

"Positive," Severus said, giving a jerky nod.

"Dobby!" Dobby appeared with a CRACK! He bowed deeply to each of them in turn. "Show Professor Snape out."

"This way, sir," Dobby squeaked, leading Severus to the door.

"Always a pleasure, Lucius," Severus said. "Narcissa."

Narcissa waited until the door had closed behind the pair before she turned to Lucius.

"Well?" she snapped. "I'm as fond of Severus as you, Lucius, but the last time he was here, it was to help you make that horrible little man into a pet for our sons-"

"It'll have to be the hard way," Lucius murmured. "I'd feared that would be the case..."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Nothing for you to worry about, dear."

"I'll be the judge of that." She suddenly spotted the books on his desk. "_The Four Founders_?" she read. "_History Of The Houses_? _Going For Gold: A Gryffindor's Story_? Are you finally agreeing?" She'd fought long and hard with Lucius over whether the boys chould go to Hogwarts (her preference) or Durmstrang (his preference). Lucius had been oddly quiet about that these past few months, which usually meant Narcissa had won.

"And if I have?"

"Then it's about time," she told him. Lucius grimaced. She, of course, knew he wouldn't have agreed with her unless there was something in it for him. Since she hadn't yet stopped talking to him (as she would have if he was still set on Durmstrang by mid-September) or sent him to sleep in the guest room instead of their room, it wasn't any reason she was aware of. "But why are you interested in Gryffindor? What are you planning?"

"Harry Potter will be in either Gryffindor or Slytherin," he said.

"The point, Lucius?" she asked wearily.

"Well," he said, looking a little nervous now. "There are two possible Houses, and we have two sons..."

"No," she said flatly.

"This is not for discussion, Narcissa," he said, strict all of a sudden. Bossing her around was likely to make her resist him and he seemed to remember that a moment later. He took her hand and this time, his tone was soft and persuasive. "We need Harry Potter on our side and there is no better way to accomplish this than with the boys-"

"They are our sons," she snapped, tearing her hand out of his. "They are not chess pieces in your silly political games, Lucius! If you want him befriended, do it yourself!"

"How do you suggest I do that, while he's hidden away with Black?" he asked flatly.

"I don't know, and nor do I particularly care," she told him. "Perhaps you can apply for the Defence position when he starts Hogwarts."

"Dumbledore would never allow it."

"So you have enough time to try to _train_ one of our sons to behave like a Gryffindor but not enough time to try to win over an old man?" Lucius glared at her. "An old man, who, I might add, is fond of second chances."

"Everything will be-"

"If you say 'fine', Lucius, I swear I'll never speak to you again. It will not be fine. Your plan, correct me if I am wrong, is to set our family up to follow the Potter boy, yes?"

"Yes."

"And - let's ignore the fact that he's a third of your age – you claim this boy will be the next pureblood Champion?"

"Yes."

Narcissa shook her head. "If you think he'll give a damn about us and our ways after a few years with my muggle-loving cousin, you're delusional. The fact that you think there's a chance of him ending up in Gryffindor proves that. He'll grow up echoing Dumbledore's beliefs, and Sirius' and all we'll get out of it is a blood-traitor son and a stain on the Malfoy name! We have nothing to gain, and everything to lose!" She took a deep breath. "Even _if_ Harry Potter turns out to be the next Dark Lord, what happens if or when your former Lord returns, as Bella thinks he will-?"

"Bella's mad-"

"Bellatrix is my sister, and I will not tolerate insults about her while I am within hearing," she said coldly. "And what if, Lucius? Would we rejoin him and forsake Potter, or would we rely on Potter to protect us?"

"We would rejoin him," Lucius said.

Narcissa let out a moan. "Then you would you sign your own son's death warrant? Anyone associated with the Potter boy will be destroyed!"

"Were it to come to that, Draco would be in a prime position to gather information on Potter, something the Dark Lord would – were he to return – reward him greatly for."

"It's Draco, then?" she asked, feeling her heart freeze a little. Draco had always seemed the stronger of the two, though that probably had a lot to do with Hydrus' disastrous birth. He oldest son had been so tiny back then, so fragile. She'd never seen Draco quite that delicate, but she had seen him small; she'd arranged to have him early because she'd been afraid of the birthing complications. Though small, Draco had been infinitely stronger. She didn't think he was strong enough for this, though.

"Draco is younger. He is easier to manipulate."

"Information or not, if the Dark Lord returns, Draco _will_ be a blood-traitor," she whispered. "A Gryffindor. You said it yourself, that Hat cannot be fooled! He'll be a true Gryffindor, and too honourable to spy on a the Potter boy, particularly if they've befriended each other!"

"If he's too honourable to turn sides, then where better to stand than at Potter's shoulder?" Narcissa stared. "But do not forget, Narcissa, Pettigrew was a Gryffindor who was willing to spy," Lucius pointed out. A dry sob escaped Narcissa's throat before she could stop it.

"You want Draco, your _son, _to end up like that wretched man? _That's_ the life you imagine for him?! Lucius, listen to yourself! You're suggesting we allow – no, we _force_ one of our sons to be a blood traitor! Even if the Dark Lord doesn't return, he'll always be that; a Malfoy in Gryffindor... it's a disgrace, Lucius!"

"How better to stir the Potter boy's sympathies?"

"Why must it be his sympathies? Why not his respect?"

"We will have his respect if he's made a Slytherin. If he's in Gryffindor, we'll need his sympathies. I'm am preparing for either outcome."

"I won't allow you to do this," she said. "My entire family was torn apart by blood-traitors, in case you've forgotten." She certainly hadn't. Even now, she was confused about it, and worried that she might not have made the right choice when she'd forsaken Andy. Andy had won freedom.

Narcissa had won her sister and husband's Lord, a man she'd never liked much at all and only followed – not served, _ever_ – because he believed the same things that she had been told to believe growing up, and because she hadn't wanted to die (which, until Harry Potter came along, had been the punishment for resisting him).

"We will handle Draco when the time comes."

A bleak laugh bubbled out of her mouth. "Handle him? Handle a Gryffindor?" Her next laugh was more like a sob. "Handle him the way Aunt Walburga did Sirius? With constant abuse until he runs away? I won't lose my son like that." Narcissa felt a tear trickle down the side of her face. She didn't brush it away. She wanted Lucius to see it and know he'd upset her.

"Then what do you suggest?"

"That you stop trying to play both sides!" she said, angry now. "Pick Potter and commit to loving muggles like Dumbledore, or wait for the Dark Lord-"

"The Dark Lord is gone."

"Then serve no one," she said, wiping the tears off of her cheeks. "Live the life we've made for ourselves. Let our sons find their own Houses-"

"And if they're Hufflepuffs?"

"Then so be it," she said venemously. "Better they find their way there on their own than be forced into a House by their idiot father." Lucius flushed an ugly pink colour and stood so abruptly that his chair fell over.

"I will not be spoken to like that-"

"And _I_ will not let you use my sons! If I hear any more of this nonsense, I'll tell them what you're planning and that will be the end of it!"

"You could, but you won't," Lucius said.

"I think you'll find there's not much I wouldn't do to protect my sons," she told him. "And if it is you they need protecting from, then so be it."

Then, leaving Lucius to ponder that, she swept out and closed the door behind her.


	28. Want And Need

"Draco," Lucius said, "would you check on Dobby's progress, please?"

"Make Hydrus do it," Draco said, scowling at his father.

"It's my birthday," Hydrus whined.

"That was weeks ago. Besides, you made me do it on my birthday dinner, so he can do it on his."

A week ago, he'd never have argued, and particularly not with company around; the Parkinsons, Greengrasses, Notts, Bulstrodes, Goyles, Crabbes and Shafiqs all looked stunned to hear Draco speaking so disrespectfully. Narcissa sighed quietly.

She hadn't said anything more to Lucius about his foolish plan to make Draco a Gryffindor after their initial discussion two weeks ago. Lucius, likewise, had been silent on the matter, but this time, it did not indicate a win for her.

This time, it meant Lucius was going ahead with his plan, and trying to do so without drawing her attention.

_Idiot_, she thought, watching her husband out of the corner of her eye. Lucius was, by no means, an unintelligent man. Quite the opposite, in fact. He just had an unfortunate habit of forgetting that no matter how clever he was, she was cleverer.

"Draco," Lucius said mildly. "I believe I asked _you_." Hydrus smirked and some of the other children laughed at Draco's expense.

_They'll turn against him, _she thought, watching her youngest son sadly. Even Gregory and Vincent – neither of whom were what she would call academically gifted – knew that Gryffindor was bad, while Slytherin was good. The Greengrass girls were the only ones who might not be overly bothered by him not being in Slytherin. Narcissa might have taken some small comfort in that, but she knew Draco wasn't overly fond of any of the girls. Daphne, in particular, seemed to annoy him.

She was smirking at Draco now, as he stalked around one of the couches - which had been pushed against the wall to clear the floor in front of the fireplace - and through the double doors.

"Goodness!" Clementina said, staring after Draco. "Who does he think he is, talking to Lucius like that? If you ask me, Narcissa, he needs a lesson to remind him where his manners are."

Narcissa smiled. "But no one did ask you, Clementina," she said, and in such a level, pleasant voice that it took several seconds for the others to hear the insult. Clementina gaped at her.

"Is Draco not feeling well?" Pansy asked. "Is that why he's behaving oddly?"

"That's exactly it," Narcissa told the girl. Her smile was genuine this time – she rather liked Pansy, after all. "He's not himself at the moment." She gave Lucius a sharp look that, unfortunately, he didn't see.

"He's not sick!" Hydrus said to Gregory, Vincent and Theodore in a loud whisper. "He's pretending! He just wants to ruin my birthday dinner." Thankfully, Sonja chose that moment to clap a hand to her mouth and walk quickly out of the room, so none of the adults had been paying much attention to Hydrus' words.

"Hydrus," Narcissa said warningly, as Ernest ran after his wife. Pansy's narrowed eyes followed the pair of them and Narcissa felt a pang of sympathy for the poor girl. Narcissa moved a step closer to her oldest son and gave him a look, which, unlike Lucius, he didn't miss. He muttered a sulky apology and then led the other children out of the drawing room.

Dinner was pleasant enough; there were enough people there that conversation never lapsed and Dobby's cooking was wonderful. Though little Cyril did make a terrible mess with his icecream, there were no explosions; Narcissa had worried about that when she saw Draco sitting between Millicent and Daphne.

After dinner, everyone ended up scattered throughout the house; Lucius and some of the other adults had gone to his study to talk about more serious matters than dinner table conversation usually allowed. Ernest Parkinson and his sister Nola – whose last name was now Shafiq – had gone, and so had Roderick and Audra Crabbe, Aloysius and Clementina Goyle, Magnus and Theodosia Bulstrode and Leopold Nott.

As all of them wore the Dark Mark, it was reasonably easy to deduce what it was they were talking about – Harry Potter as the new Dark Lord - and Narcissa – who sometimes listened in and sometimes did not – had decided to join the rest of their guests in the drawing room. She thought she'd heard more than enough about Harry Potter lately.

Eleanor was chatting with her step-son while he played with his baby sister; Lucius thought it was dangerous for Theodore to be so openly smitten by little Catherine but Narcissa thought it was sweet. All three Greengrass girls and Nadia Shafiq – who was the same age as Daphne - were having a whispered conversation over by the fireplace and seemed oblivious to anything else that was happening.

Vincent and Gregory were hovering by the corner table – upon which was a plate of sweets and baked goods Dobby had prepared – and a few feet from them, Hydrus, Draco, Pansy and Millicent had pulled together four of the armchairs and were talking. On the opposite side of the room on one of the couches, Parmenia and Marius Greengrass and Nishith Shafiq were talking about a mutual friend of theirs – both Marius and Nishith worked in the Department of Magical Discoveries at the Ministry – and so it was that Narcissa found herself sitting with Sonja Parkinson.

"Thank you for tonight," Sonja said, wincing as she shifted in her armchair. Narcissa picked up a pillow from the couch she was sitting on and passed it to the other witch. She accepted it with a weak but genuine smile and tucked it behind her back. "I haven't seen Pansy this happy in a long time."

As if to prove her mother's point, Pansy started laughing at something Millicent had said. Narcissa noticed that Hydrus looked disgruntled about it and that Draco was smirking.

"We don't have people over anymore," Sonja continued, shifting again. "Ernest's usually working and I just can't do it by myself." Narcissa wasn't sure what facial expression was appropriate. She settled for an understanding look. "Soon I won't even be able to come to things like this."

"You'll manage, I'm sure," Narcissa murmured.

"That's what everyone says. I know they're just being polite. I see the way they look at me." She smiled gently. "Not talking about it, or pretending everything's fine doesn't change anything. I'm dying. The Healers don't think I've got even a year left."

"So little time?" Narcissa breathed. Sonja was only a few years older than she was. Sometimes that was hard to remember, though; with her drawn face, lank, colourless hair and nearly skeletal appearance, Sonja looked decades older.

"It's a relief, to be honest," Sonja said, with a small, sad smile. "It's been five years and I'm tired."

"You have so much to live for," Narcissa murmured. "There's Ernest and Pansy... Sonja, what about Pansy?"

"She'll be happier with me gone," Sonja said, watching her daughter as she spoke. Narcissa knew Pansy sometimes struggled with her mother's illness, but surely that wasn't true... "You don't believe me," Sonja said. "But it's true. My daughter hates me."

"Nonsense-"

"It's true. Sometimes, I can almost convince myself that it's better for her – if she hates me, she won't miss me when I'm gone... Have you ever lost someone dear to you, Narcissa?" Sonja asked softly.

"You know that I have," Narcissa said. Aside from never taking the Mark, she and Sonja had three main things in common. They had both lost their fathers during the war – that, in fact, was what had brought them together again; Sonja was Narcissa's cousin on her mother's side, but Narcissa's father and her uncle had never liked each other – she'd never been given a reason why. After Narcissa's father's death, her mother had gone to her estranged brother for support and they'd managed to patch things up before he died a year later.

The second thing they had in common was that they'd lost a sibling to the war; Narcissa had lost Bella to Azkaban, while Evan, Sonja's brother, was actually dead. The third was that each had an estranged, blood-traitor sibling – Narcissa's was Andy, Sonja's was Cornelius, who'd married a muggle woman.

"And do you remember the pain? The grief?" Narcissa nodded curtly and clasped her hands in her lap. "Perhaps, it's best if Pansy doesn't feel that."

"You sound as if you're trying to convince yourself."

"I am... Have you seen anyone die, before?"

"I've seen dead people," Narcissa said. Four of Dumbledore's men had been captured and brought to the Manor the night before the Dark Lord was destroyed. Two of the four – the Prewett twins – had escaped, though she knew they'd been killed shortly after. The other two - Caradoc Dearborn, her old Defence teacher, and Benjy Fenwick, the Head Boy she'd swooned over in her second year – had been blown to smithereens by Evan. Narcissa remembered the entire Manor trembling; Draco had been taking his first wobbly steps and fallen over.

She'd gone downstairs to see what was happening – after leaving Draco and Hydrus with Dobby – and found Lucius, Evan, Ernest, Abraxas and Severus all standing, shocked, in the blackened, bloodied cellar, which had since been Scourgified, but she still hated it down there. Someone – probably Rosier, since he'd made the mess – had been responsible for leaving Fenwick's remains where Dumbledore's followers would find them. There hadn't been enough left of Dearborn to return.

"But I've never actually seen anyone die," she said, coming back to the present. "Have you?"

"No." Sonja looked nervous. "Did you feel anything for them? The dead people you saw?"

"I was sad. It was their own fault and it had to be done, but it was a waste of life. They had friends and families and futures..."

"But you didn't grieve?" It was times like this that Narcissa was reminded that Sonja had been in Ravenclaw.

"No," Narcissa murmured, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear before she clasped her hands together again. It had been sad and shocking, yes – it wasn't every day she saw her Defence teacher splattered on the walls of her cellar – but it hadn't been a personal loss.

"Then perhaps it's good that Pansy hates me."

"You don't really believe that," Narcissa said, watching the older woman's face carefully.

Sonja smiled sadly. "No, I don't. But I want to..."

"Why?" Narcissa had to ask.

"Because I want what's best for Pansy. I don't want her to hurt."

"Then why don't you just let her hate you?"

"Because it's not me she hates. It's the fact that I'm sick, that I'm dying. She's too young to make the distinction yet, but I know and I don't want her to hate _me._ I'm going to lose her soon enough anyway I want my daughter to be mine for as long as I can have her. It's selfish, I know, but-"

"But not an unreasonable desire," Narcissa murmured.

"I've written her letters, you know," Sonja admitted, dabbing at her eyes, which were beginning to look teary. "For all of her birthdays, and for Christmases and for her first day of Hogwarts... And Ernest has promised to tell her that I loved her, so that she will always know... And perhaps in time, she will forgive me."

"There's nothing to forgive."

"Of course there is. I'm her mother, and I'm about to abandon her."

"You're victims of circumstance-"

"Of course we are. Doesn't mean I'm not abandoning her. I'm her mother. I'm supposed to be there for her, to take care of her, and I won't be." Narcissa didn't know what to say. "That's why I've tried not to be jealous that she's so much like her father. They gravitate towards each other – probably would, even if I was healthy – and they're going to need that, need each other soon enough."

"Tried?" Narcissa asked.

"It doesn't always work, of course. I am jealous, sometimes. I never say anything though, to either of them. That wouldn't be fair, and it would be irrational. It makes sense for Pansy to lean on the more stable parent." A small laugh burbled out of her pale lips. "A child's intuition, some would call it. Maybe she'll be a Ravenclaw after all."

"Do you not want her in Slytherin?"

"Frankly, I don't care where she goes, as long as she's happy." Sonja's eyelids began to droop; Narcissa might have been alarmed if this was a rare occurrence, but she'd seen Sonja do this many times before. "She's got a hard few years ahead of her, and I want her surrounded by people that will support her. If she finds that in Hufflepuff, so be it. I just want her taken care of."

"You know that... when it comes to it... Lucius and the boys and I will always be here for her, and for Ernest, of course."

"I know. I know that." Sonja's eyes fell shut and she slumped back into her seat. "Thank you," she breathed. Narcissa watched as her body relaxed into sleep, though a small frown remained on her face. Narcissa studied Sonja for a moment and then conjured a blanket and tucked it around her.

"Thank you," a voice at her shoulder said. "I was just about to come and do that." Narcissa turned, surprised, and then smiled – a little sadly, but she couldn't help it –at Pansy, whose dark eyes were fixed on her mother. "She's dying, you know," Pansy said in a detached sort of way, still watching Sonja.

"I know," Narcissa said softly.

"She's weak," Pansy said.

"I think she's very strong," Narcissa said. "She's been sick for five years now, but she's still here, still fighting."

"But she's losing."

"It's very tiring to be sick all the time."

"That's what Daddy says," Pansy muttered. She took a last look at her mother and then her eyes flicked to Narcissa. "Well, thank you for the blanket, Mrs Malfoy." Narcissa inclined her head and Pansy went back to her armchair next to Hydrus. The six children – because Hydrus, Draco, Pansy and Millicent had since been joined by Vincent and Gregory – started talking again, as if Pansy had never left.

They were good at that now – Narcissa had personally seen to it that both of her boys would not talk about Sonja to Pansy unless Pansy brought it up first, and even then, only if they could reply without offending her. Vincent and Gregory had likely been told not to say anything at all by their parents, and Millicent was clever enough to judge the situation for herself and act accordingly.

Sonja shifted and croaked her daughter's name in her sleep.

_We're not all that different,_ Narcissa thought toward Sonja. _We both want what's best for our children._

The trouble was, Narcissa – after two weeks of almost constant contemplation of her options – still had no idea what _was_ best.

* * *

After Flooing home from Moony's two weeks ago, Harry and Padfoot had settled right back into Grimmauld Place. There had been cleaning to do – thankfully, a simple Vacuuming Charm took care of the dust and cobwebs Kreacher had conjured, and most of the damage had been magically caused and could be fixed with a quick _Reparo_ or _Finite Incantatem_.

The cleaning brought back memories of February, when they'd first moved in, but there were a few key improvements; firstly, Kreacher was willing to help – he'd been ecstatic to have them home and regaled them with tales of the Aurors' visits – and provided them with regular meals. Secondly, Harry and Padfoot knew each other better this time and so weren't as edgy around each other as they had been back then and thirdly, Moony was around whenever he wasn't out searching for them and was quite happy to provide help or just company whenever one of them needed it.

With most of the cleaning and repair work done in the first few days of being home, things had gone back to a state of restfulness that Harry hadn't had since before the cave incident; he still had nightmares - either about Padfoot trying to kill Snape or about the cave - but since his room was spelled against fire and he was reasonably sure Snape had been lying, there was no need to worry about either of those and the dreams grew further apart as September drew on.

Padfoot was in a ridiculously chipper mood all the time – or perhaps it was just normal, and seemed unusual after the Dementor's Draught – because he had either Harry or Moony around him for the entire day, _and_ because he was working on his plan to cure himself; Harry now knew that involved Occlumency and the Patronus Charm Padfoot had mentioned that night at Moony's. He'd only had one sick day since they'd got home, and he'd spent that researching, so it wasn't a complete loss.

When Padfoot wasn't working on his cure, he was teaching Harry various jinxes and odd spells that wouldn't be in the Hogwarts curriculum but were useful to know anyway; Padfoot didn't want Harry to arrive at Hogwarts, knowing everything and then be bored as a result. Moony had somehow procured his old homework planner – according to Padfoot, he'd had one every year at Hogwarts – so they knew what general areas of study to avoid.

On the days that Moony only worked half a day with the search, he took Harry's lessons to give Padfoot more time to research. Moony took teaching a little more seriously than Padfoot did – Harry had blown up a cauldron and Moony had made him write four inches on possible reasons why, and on how to avoid any such incidents in the future, where Padfoot would have just laughed – but he was a good teacher and Harry was learning lots.

By the end of Spetember, they'd covered some of the better known magical creatures – things like dragons, werewolves, vampires, merfolk (which were apparently not pretty at all), unicorns and fairies – and Moony had also thought Harry should learn some very simple healing potions and spells – Harry could now successfully brew a Pepper-Up Potion, a potion that fixed headaches – which Padfoot often needed if he was messing around with Occlumency – and a spell that would fix small cuts and bruises. Moony also – secretly – taught Harry several spells that Padfoot hadn't covered yet, and as such, hadn't known that Harry knew about until Harry used them against him.

"_Tempus Admonius,_" Harry whispered. A small, glowing clock face appeared in the air in front of him. He flicked his wand to set the clock to the right time – one minute from then – and tapped the clock face, which shimmered and disappeared. Harry sat down and picked up the pieces of Regulus' puzzle again – he'd managed to make the snake's head and the last inch of its tail.

Two rooms over, the toilet flushed and then Padfoot wandered back in, humming to himself and sat down. Within a few seconds, he was once again engrossed in his copy of the _Evening Prophet_ and didn't even notice Harry sneaking glances at him.

When the minute was up, a shrill ringing noise – similar to that of a normal, muggle alarm clock – started. Padfoot yelped and covered his ears; Harry didn't blame him – he'd cast the spell at Padfoot's chin level.

"_Finite,_" Padfoot yelled, flicking his wand over his shoulder. The ringing continued. Padfoot looked over at Harry, who was trying – and failing – to keep a straight face; he'd obviously remembered the charm could only be deactivated when it was touched by a wand. Harry could see the faint glimmer of the spell but he thought that was only because he knew where to look. "Where is it?" Padfoot asked, with a wry grin.

Harry leaned over and tapped the shimmering charm with his wand. It silenced immediately. Another tap and the spell vanished completely, as it was designed to do; Harry had still not learned how to Vanish things, because Padfoot – in a rare display of maturity – had decided there were more dangers associated with learning it now than there were benefits.

"Is being able to Vanish vegetables off of your dinner plate really worth the risk that you might accidentally shout '_Evanesco'_ in a duel and Vanish your opponent?" he'd asked. Harry had been scared enough by that prospect that he'd promised – without prompting – not to attempt it until he was told how to, whether that ended up being at either at Hogwarts in several years time, or by Padfoot or Moony.

"You should have seen your face," Harry chuckled, tucking his wand back into his jeans.

"Did it look like yours did when I changed your room the other night?" Padfoot asked slyly. Harry grimaced; while he'd been asleep, Padfoot had moved all of the furniture in his bedroom around and so, when Harry had climbed out of bed the next morning, still half asleep, he'd walked into the wall because that was where the door was _supposed_ to have been. Padfoot had been standing in the actual doorway, laughing at him.

"Probably, yeah," Harry muttered, trying not to grin too widely. Padfoot barked a laugh and ruffled Harry's hair.

"Shall we call it a truce, then?"

"Truce," Harry agreed.

"On each other," Padfoot said solemnly. "Moony's fair game."

"Agreed," Harry said, laughing.

"Merlin you're starting to sound like Sirius," Moony commented from the doorway. He'd given up on the doorbell when Padfoot stopped answering it and just invited himself in now.

"How?" Harry asked, curiously.

"When you laugh," Moony said, draping his worn cloak over a seat "I can't explain it... you just sound like him."

"His voice is all James'," Padfoot argued.

"I didn't say anything about his voice, just his laugh," Moony said.

"Right..." Padfoot said, arching an eyebrow. He flung an arm over Harry's shoulder as Moony pulled one of the chairs from the desk around and sat. "Well, kiddo, if you laugh like me, at least you've got one damn attractive laugh." Harry couldn't help it; he laughed. "So," Padfoot continued, looking at Moony. "How was searching? Did you find that poor, innocent Sirius Black and his evil godson?"

"Well-" Moony began.

"I think it's the other way around," Harry said helpfully. "I think I'm supposed to be the innocent one."

Padfoot frowned as if he was actually thinking about it. "Are you- No... No, I'm positive you're the evil one."

"Yeah, actually, maybe that's right..." Harry grinned and added, "Sorry, Moony."

"That's quite all right," Moony said, his mouth twitching. "And no, we didn't find either of you. Matt was _devastated_," Moony joked, his eyes gleaming. "He was quite put out about it at lunch, actually. He thinks you must have someone on the inside..."

"Where in Merlin's name did he get that idea?" Padfoot asked, grinning.

"I'm sure I have no idea," Moony sniffed. "Of course, Matt being Matt, he thought it was a good idea to share this theory with the rest of the group. Arabella's still certain it's Nymphadora and I think Dirk agrees but he's subtler about it." Moony sighed, as if he wasn't sure whether to be amused or not.

"Is she still going to take over?" Harry asked.

"I'm not going in tomorrow – day of the full moon and all that – but she's got Auror things on Fridays anyway, so I've given her free reign on Saturday, since I won't be there then, either," Moony said. "There's not much to do to be honest, so I'm certain she'll handle it admirably but it'll be a good chance to test her. Depending on how she goes, she might take over soon." He fiddled with a loose thread on his jumper and glanced up. "Have you made any progress with your Patronus?"

"No," Padfoot said. "I did a bit of mind-shaping this morning but that's it until Saturday."

"Why? Last night you said you were close."

"I am close," Padfoot said, beaming. "_Very _close. But the full moon's tomorrow and _if_ something doesn't work, I don't want to leave you to fend for yourself."

"Sirius-" Moony said, looking uncomfortable.

"Hush, Moony," Padfoot said. "I'm being noble. Don't ruin it." Moony bit his lip. "I can see you're thinking of ruining it," Padfoot said. "Don't do it!"

"I just- if you can get better-"

"And you've done it anyway," Padfoot said, sounding resigned. "Nobility ruiner."

"Sorry," Moony said. Harry was trying not to laugh at the pair of them.

"You couldn't help it," Padfoot said, grinning. "I can deal with an extra day. I just need to find something to do to keep me occupied tomorrow."

"I might have something we can do," Moony said.

"Oh no," Padfoot said hastily. "You'll make us do boring things, like rearrange the library, or-"

"The library does need to be rearranged," Moony muttered, "you said so yourself."

"I did, but that doesn't mean I'm doing it," Padfoot retorted. Harry managed to turn a laugh into a cough at the last minute; he wasn't going to take sides on this one, particularly because – not matter which side he picked – he'd end up helping.

"Hypocrite. And it's not something boring."

"Well, not to you," Padfoot said, "but we're normal people, Moony. We don't want to rearrange the library."

"I never said anything about the library!"

"Did so! You said it needed rearranging!" Padfoot turned to Harry. "He'll make us rearrange all of these," he said, gesturing to the shelves around them, "and then, when we've finished that, he'll send us upstairs to clean your room-"

"I only did that a week ago!" Harry protested.

"I know," Padfoot said. "Horrible, isn't it!" He glared – though there was no real force behind it – at an exasperated Moony. "He's-"

"Oh, shut up, Padfoot," Moony said, rolling his eyes. Padfoot continued to complain dramatically so Moony talked over him. "I was actually going to suggest we go through a certain box that's been tucked away in my spare bedroom for far too long," he said loudly.

That shut Padfoot up.

* * *

"Jordan, name one of the twelve properties of dragon's blood." Jordan - who had, until that moment, been laughing at something one of the Weasleys said – jerked and looked up.

"Uh..." he said. "Well, my Dad got into this fight in the Leaky Cauldron once and he put dragon's blood – I mean, it was a steak, but steaks have blood, right? – on his face to make it better."

"I asked for a property of dragon's blood, not your father's life story," Severus snapped, and took five points from Gryffindor.

"He gave you a property though!" one of the insufferable Weasley brats piped up.

"Five points from Gryffindor for speaking out of turn," Severus said. Yaxley and Joffs, who were sitting at a desk at the back of the room, sniggered. "And no, Mr Weasley, he did not. He did, however, hint at one. Yes, Miss Fawley?"

"Dragon's blood has healing properties," Fawley said, smirking in the Gryffindors' general direction.

"Ten points to Slytherin," Severus said. "You should all be writing this down! Spinnet!" The girl squeaked. "I trust you know of another property because I can think of no other reason for you to be speaking with Miss Johnson during my class."

"Erm..." Spinnet played with a strand of her hair, looked up – seemed alarmed to find Severus was watching her – and then looked down again. "Well, sir, dragon's blood is used in potions."

"Name one such potion." The entire Gryffindor side seemed to hold their breath.

"Blemish Blitzer," Spinnet said tentatively. Severus curled his lip. Jordan and the Weasleys groaned.

"If I had wanted a specific brand, I would have asked for it," he said. Spinnet's upper lip trembled. "If you intend to pass this year, you need to learn to _follow instructions_. Another five points from Gryffindor for failing to do so. My, my, Gryffindor is suffering today..."

He was about to take more points – probably ten this time, because he really did loathe the twins – from one of the Weasleys for wearing such an insolent expression in his classroom but he was interrupted by a soft knock on the classroom door. Frowning, Severus did a quick count of the class, but they were all present. Severus strode over to the door and pulled it open.

"Severus." Narcissa Malfoy held out a pale hand for him to shake and he did so. He didn't allow her to see how surprised he was.

"Narcissa." Severus stepped out of the classroom and – after a brief debate about whether it was better to be able to keep an eye on his class (particularly since it contained two Weasleys) – closed the door. He just hoped he didn't regret it. Narcissa looked faintly surprised. "What can I do for you?" She looked lost for a moment and then took a deep breath and smoothed her robes.

"I'm sorry for interrupting your class," she said, sounding genuinely apologetic. "I only wanted to inform you that I was here and that I need to speak with you, when it is convenient."

"Does the Headmaster know of your presence here?"

"I did not inform him I was coming," she said, shaking her head. "But that does not mean he doesn't know."

_How true_, Severus thought, allowing himself to smirk.

"I had Dobby Apparate inside your office – I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all," Severus said, though he did a little. He was more interested in what had brought Narcissa here, alone, and via house elf; it was not something most purebloods would even think of, let alone consent to. "What is it you need?"

She glanced at the classroom door and then said, "It can wait until the end of the lesson."

"After which I have a double period with my N.E.W.T. class." Her face fell just enough for him to notice. "One moment," Severus told her. He strode back inside, startling the class. "I am required elsewhere." It was better not to give them an estimated time – not that Severus had one anyway – because that kept them on their toes and meant they were more likely to behave. "While I am not here, you are to look up the twelve uses of dragon's blood in your textbooks and write a summary. You will hand it to me, complete, when I return."

"Sir?" Poole had her hand up. "How long does it have to be?" Sometimes, Severus wondered why the girl had been placed in his House and not Filius'.

"An inch per use," he said curtly. Quite a few students – and not only the ones from Gryffindor – groaned. "You may share textbooks if necessary, and confer amongst yourselves, but the work is to be your own. If you do not have the equipment required to complete the task, I suggest you borrow some from someone else." And then, because he wouldn't put it past his Slytherins to with-hold parchment or ink from those Gryffindors that would not have thought to bring their own, added, "No one leaves this room until I have collected everyone's summary."

"But, Professor-" Joffs whined.

"No one leaves until I have collected everyone's summary," Severus repeated. "Do not make me say it again." Students started pulling out textbooks and parchment and quills. He waited until most of them were working – or doing a passable imitation of work – before he slipped out of the classroom again. Narcissa was waiting patiently. "We will speak in my office," Severus said, gesturing for her to follow.

"Thank you for doing this," she said, sounding remarkably sincere. Severus had nothing to say to that – if he did reply, he might accidentally incite a menial, continuous exchange of pleasantries; Narcissa was in an odd mood today. Severus pushed open the door to his office and allowed Narcissa past. She took a curious glance at the potions and ingredients lining the shelves but her gaze did not linger; she'd probably had a good look when she arrived.

"Sit," he said curtly, gesturing to the seat in front of the desk, as he took his own chair.

"Is there any chance of us being overheard?" she asked nervously. "Is anyone likely to come searching for you?" Severus cast a non-verbal _Muffliato_ at the office door, as well as several other protective and privacy wards. It would, perhaps, have been easier to take her into his quarters – accessible through a door that was hidden behind one of the ingredient shelves – but, while he trusted Narcissa more than Lucius, he was not prepared to trust her that much.

"Not anymore," he told her.

"I-" Narcissa began and then seemed to lose her nerve. "Oven cleaner."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Dragon's blood," she said blithely. "It can be used as oven cleaner." Severus blinked. He was aware of that, of course, but couldn't for the life of him fathom how she knew that. Narcissa was clever, yes, but not at Potions – she'd only just managed to scrape an A in her Potions O.W.L., if Severus remembered correctly – and he wasn't sure how a witch who'd probably had house elves her entire life would know anything about oven cleaners.

"It can, yes," Severus managed to say. He wondered if she'd brought it up to throw him off. If so, it had certainly worked.

"It's funny the thing you remember from school, isn't it?" she said quietly. "I think it's the only thing I remember from Potions lessons, other than the time Bella was sent to the Hospital Wing because Slughorn knocked a cauldron over with that enormous stomach of his." Severus remembered that too. It had probably been the highlight of his fifth year; fifth year had been a bad year.

"I take it you have more to say, however," Severus said, still stymied that she knew about oven cleaner.

"I do, yes." She clasped her hands in her lap. "I am in need of... advice. You know that I love my husband, don't you, Severus?"

"Of course," Severus said, and then inched his chair back, just in case. She smiled slightly, and he wondered if she knew what he was thinking. "Was the fact ever in doubt?"

"I hope not," she said, bristling slightly. "But, then again, he does not know that I am here and I must ask you to keep what you are about to learn a secret."

"And if I do not?" he asked neutrally. Narcissa looked lost.

"Well," she said, looking remarkably close to breaking down there and then. "Well- I-"

"Whatever you say will be held in the utmost confidence," Severus assured her; Dumbledore didn't count. Astoundingly, her eyes filled with tears, and her shoulders slumped, as if a burden had been lifted.

"Draco will be in Gryffindor," she whispered. Severus stared at her, wondering how that was even possible. The boy was as Slytherin as it was possible to be. "I assume Lucius is planning to alter his personality?" That was the only possible explanation.

"He is," Narcissa said, looking irritated.

"May I ask why?" he asked finally, unsure of how he was feeling.

"So that he can be close to Harry Potter."

"I see," was all Severus said, but his mind was reeling. "And you're telling me this why?"

"Because I don't know what to do," she whispered. "What if Harry Potter isn't Sorted into Gryffindor? Draco would be there for nothing! What if Harry Potter's dead, and he doesn't even show up to school-?"

"Harry Potter is alive," Severus said. Narcissa sat perfectly still. "Dumbledore has people situated in the Department of Magical Records and the boy's name is yet to show up. And Lucius told me you knew about Pettigrew."

"I do," she said stiffly.

"Then why would you think Harry Potter is dead?"

"If Lucius is right, and he's the next Dark Lord, then it would make sense for Sirius to kill him. Sirius always fought for Dumbledore, remember-"

"I remember," Severus said, and then sighed. "Harry Potter will not be a Dark Lord, not with Black raising him. He will be a Gryffindor, I have no doubt of that. So, unless Lucius is willing to bend his proud neck and follow Dumbledore's Golden Boy, placing Draco in Gryffindor is a useless act."

"But Potter is powerful," Narcissa argued. "He killed the Dark Lord!"

_Lily's sacrifice did that, _Severus thought irritably. Instead, he simply said, "The Dark Lord is not dead." Narcissa's eyes widened, but he couldn't decipher her expression.

"Has he contacted you-?"

"No," Severus said. "I base that on Dumbledore's word only-" Narcissa at least, had more respect for Dumbledore than Lucius did; she didn't sneer or make any disparaging comments. "-but Dumbledore is rarely wrong about matters this important."

"No," Narcissa said. Severus couldn't be certain if she was agreeing with him, or if she was speaking a thought she'd had aloud. "He's gone-"

"Gone, yes," Severus agreed. "But not dead. He will return, and he will want Harry Potter and all those who stand beside him destroyed."

"I said this to Lucius," she said, suddenly, squeezing her eyes closed. "I didn't think- I was only trying to make him see sense-" Her eyes opened and flicked to Severus' face. "Severus, please, speak to him. Tell him-"

"I have tried," Severus said flatly. "More times than I can count, but Lucius has little regard for Dumbledore's opinions."

"But Draco will be killed! Killed or forced to spy-"

"That remains true, no matter which House he is placed in. With Lucius as his father, he will be pressed into service as soon as he is old enough. To refuse would be treason. There are only two options here, Narcissa, and they are life, or death." Narcissa's chin trembled.

"I just want him safe..."

"Then you've chosen life. Draco will serve the Dark Lord, as will Hydrus, presumably-" Narcissa's expression twisted into one of distaste and then smoothed a second later. Severus wondered whether he'd seen it at all. "And, as Lucius will not listen to reason, it seems Draco will serve from Gryffindor, unless you can persuade your husband to give the position to Hydrus instead." Narcissa was staring at her lap. Severus thought she was fighting tears again. Mutely, she shook her head.

"Either way, a son of mine will become a blood-traitor and then be forced to spy," she whispered. Personally, Severus would prefer it if Drace was _not _the blood traitor, but didn't say so. "But it will be Draco. Hydrus is too set in his ways. Draco is younger, easier to influence..." It was probably safer for Draco, too, Severus conceded; Bellatrix, as Hydrus' godmother, would want nothing to do with Hydrus if he was placed in Gryffindor, while Severus would continue to tolerate his own godson. She took a slow, shuddering breath and put her face in her hands. "My son, my poor son..."

_Yes, _Severus thought, and was surprised to find how miserable he felt; he'd always taken an interest in Draco, of course, but it he'd been careful not to get too attached. He and the Malfoys were on opposing sides, after all. And now they definitely were, because Draco was going to be a spy for the Dark Lord, stuck in Gryffindor for seven long years and have to put up with the Potter brat.

Perhaps the Dark Lord would try to have Draco kill Potter... and then, Draco would become more than just something to be wary of. He'd be a threat, and threats would have to be dealt with. _Poor Draco. If he doesn't serve the Dark Lord, he'll be killed. If he does, he'll probably be killed anyway, and I could even be the one to have to do it._

"'... where better to stand than at Potter's shoulder'? Oh, Lucius..." Narcissa murmured, a moment later. Severus pulled himself out of his own thoughts and glanced across the desk at her. Tears were still running down her pale cheeks, but otherwise, she looked remarkably composed. "Teach him," she said, more to herself than to him, he thought.

"Teach him what?"

"To lie. To notice things," she said. The words seemed to be torn from her against her will, but she said them with conviction. It was... odd. "Teach him to survive, like you have." Severus just stared. "You fooled Dumbledore, for Salazar's sake! Teach him to do the same!" She leaned forward and gripped the front of his robes. "Please, Severus. Train him to be a spy, so when the Dark Lord returns, Draco will be ready, will know what to do. _Please_."

"This is what you want?" he asked stiffly.

"Yes," she whispered, but her expression and tone said the opposite.

"And what about what Draco wants?" Severus asked softly, though it was more to buy himself time. Narcissa took another shuddering breath.

"What he needs is more important."


	29. Revisiting The Past

"But, but sir-" Severus spluttered.

"You already agreed, did you not?" Dumbledore asked, as infuriatingly calm as ever.

"Yes," Severus said stiffly. "I didn't have a choice, then-"

"You will keep your word. There are dangerous times ahead for young Mr Malfoy and he will fare better through them with your guidance."

"That's just it, Headmaster," Severus said irritably, turning hard on his foot so that he could pace the other way. "I see no reason to be modest about the fact that I am - quite possibly - the best Occlumens around today. Any student of mine could well surpass me, particularly if they're given training from childhood-"

"It is possible, yes," Dumbledore said, picking up a letter from the Minister's Office – a letter that was likely from Fudge himself.

"And you want to give that to the other side?!" Severus demanded. "You want me to personally train someone who will be spying on you and the Potter br- er... boy-"

"You are assuming Sirius will allow Harry to go to Hogwarts," Dumbledore sighed, watching Severus over the top of his letter. "And that he will be Sorted into Gryffindor-"

"Of course he will be," Severus sneered. "James Potter's son in Slytherin... The idea of him in anything but Gryffindor is ridiculous-"

"And what of Lily's son?" Dumbledore asked, cutting him off _again._ "Could he belong to Slytherin?"

"He's _Potter's_ son," Severus hissed, making Dumbledore sigh. "And Black's godson. He will be in Gryffindor-"

"I hope so," Dumbledore sighed. "But you forget the boy managed to fool us into thinking he had consumed Veritaserum-" Dumbledore's blue eyes flashed; Severus knew he had stopped answering the Minister's letters through September, as punishment for that moral trespass, at least until he realised that had the potential to cause more harm than good. He was answering letters again, if the one on his desk was any indication, but he was still furious, Severus had no doubts. "-and escape from a heavily warded room while two Aurors were stationed outside."

"The escape was probably Black," Severus said, knowing full well it had been, because Black had told him so.

"Probably," Dumbledore said thoughtfully, "but the tea on the sheets was all Harry."

"Yes, but-" Severus stopped short. "That's not the point!" he said, furiously, while Dumbledore chuckled and resumed reading his letter. "The point is, you're telling me to give specialty lessons to Draco, to give him _my_ skills, so that he can then use them against us!"

"That is exactly what I'm asking, Severus, yes."

Severus called Dumbledore every rude name he could think of – unfortunately, that seemed to amuse the old man, particularly when he had to Summon a dictionary to check one of the words. Severus didn't know which one, since he'd said them all so quickly. With one last snarl at the Headmaster, whose beard was twitching as he consulted the dictionary, Severus stalked out and slammed the door behind him.

* * *

Kreacher had been coming and going from the training room all day, keeping them supplied with tea and hot chocolate – for Padfoot, just in case – and scones and biscuits and sandwiches and anything else any of them wanted. He seemed to understand that this was as difficult for them as going through Black family heirlooms was for him. There was certainly more laughter associated with this job, however.

They'd already sorted through quite a few of the photographs; there were some of James as a baby, some of him and two people that Padfoot said were Harry's grandparents, and there were also some muggle photos of Lily as a child. Some of them had Aunt Petunia in them – Harry noticed the photographs of his mother and aunt together stopped when Lily was about nine.

There was one photo of a young Lily – who was perhaps ten – paddling in a little stream wearing an enormous hat on her head and an even bigger smile. Beside her, with his face blocked by the brim of Lily's hat, was a dark-haired boy. It was a boy because the clothes were certainly not girl's clothes. Padfoot and Moony thought it might have been a cousin or a neighbour, but without his face, it was hard to know.

Most of the other photographs were from his parents' years at Hogwarts; there was one of James being chased by a suit of armour in first year – which Padfoot proudly claimed he'd taken - and one of Moony standing in a doorway, grinning and holding a broomstick.

"See that," Padfoot said, pointing into the room behind photo-Moony. Harry squinted and could make out what appeared to be an upside-down room; the floor was starry and the roof was stone, with tables affixed to it. There were people still eating at the tables, and flying around below them were two dark-haired boys on broomsticks.

"It was brilliant," Moony said, grinning. "We took our broomsticks to dinner – I still can't believe no one asked us about it-"

"Knew better by then," Padfoot said knowingly.

"- we ate, and then, when we'd finished, I cast a charm to flip the room, and then another one, which was like an enormous Shield Charm an inch from all of the walls and floors."

"Best part was," Padfoot chortled, "was that no one noticed until we jumped on our broomsticks and flew out! Everyone was stuck there until the teachers worked out how to get everyone down – they didn't know why their counter-charms kept bouncing off! Eventually, a few of them cast simultaneously and broke the Shield Charm, but it took them a good few hours, didn't it, Moony?"

"It was two in the morning by the time they got down, I think," Moony agreed, smiling. "And we'd had the run of the school for hours. Everyone was so tired, lessons were cancelled the next day!"

"I'll bet everyone loved that," Harry said, grinning.

"I think we got detentions every night for two weeks-"

"Three," Moony said.

"Oh, three then," Padfoot said sheepishly. "And we lost twenty points each, but it was worth it. What's the next photo?"

The next photograph was of a twelve-year old Lily at some sort of party – Moony said something about a 'Slug Club' – and then there was one of all four Marauders – at about age thirteen - and a pretty barmaid in a pub somewhere. Then there was one of Lily – also about thirteen – lying upside down off of the end of her bed, tickling a blond girl with the ends of her red hair, while a round faced girl and a young Marlene laughed.

Then, there was one of James and Padfoot having a snowball fight – the snowballs kept hitting the camera, which Moony had apparently been holding – one of a Quidditch match, with James and Padfoot zooming around the pitch and one of Lily – who was maybe fourteen or fifteen now – with the same blond girl from one of the other photographs. And, with Lily's arm wrapped around his shoulders, was a much younger, semi-smiling, Snape.

"That's Mary MacDonald," Moony said, pointing at the blond girl. "And you know Snape."

"Were they friends?" Harry asked, watching as Lily released both Snape and Mary so that she could wave at Harry. Snape watched her with a sulky expression and then glared at Harry. Mary just smiled and shot wary glances at Snape every few seconds. Moony and Padfoot shared a look.

"They were for the first few years," Padfoot said eventually. "I wouldn't have called them close – her friends tolerated him and his friends wouldn't even look at her so that made things hard – but yeah, I suppose you could have called them friends. Or, at least, he wasn't as much of a git to her as he was to the rest of us. Then he did something to upset her and she saw what a git he really was and everything sort of fell apart."

Moony cleared his throat and began to explain the next photograph; it was of James and Moony in a cavernous room – there were house elves at the edges of the room, looking anxious, so Harry guessed it was a kitchen - standing at the head of at least seventy, human sized gingerbread men. As Harry watched, Padfoot and Peter, who were each riding on the shoulders of their own gingerbread – iced in red instead of James and Moony's white – led a charge.

"We had battles all through the school," Padfoot said fondly. "It was just a distraction, though; that night, we sent our soldiers to each of the common rooms and all of the teachers' quarters and had them take everyone out onto the grounds."

"What was out there?" Harry asked.

"Blankets and campfires. And then a fireworks display," Moony said, grinning. He dug through the pile of photographs and pulled one out. It showed fireworks exploding in the dark, starry sky. Below it, outlined by the fires Moony had mentioned, were the staff and students of Hogwarts, as well as the gingerbread men.

Harry spied Dumbledore off to one side, chatting amicably with several of the animated biscuits, and laughed. Every few seconds, an arm would reach across – in front of whoever was holding the camera – and point at Lily, who was sitting with three other girls and smiling up at the fireworks.

"That's Prongs' arm, in case you hadn't guessed," Padfoot said, as if he'd read Harry's mind. "And there, we've got Mary, your mum, Alice and Marlene."

"Did you get a detention for this?"

"One for every gingerbread man," Moony said wryly. "But it was split between the four of us – worked out to about forty each – and McGonagall was so impressed by our spell-work she didn't take points."

"Good old Minnie," Padfoot said fondly. "That's her there." He pointed to the back of a witch in a tartan dressing gown. "There's a better photograph here, somewhere, surely..." He went through the pile and pulled one out. "Aha! End of seventh year."

The photo showed the four Marauders and Lily – each of whom were wearing a red and gold scarf – as well as McGonagall; she was wedged between Padfoot and Moony – who were both grinning madly. James, Peter and Lily were in the front – James was crouching because he was obviously taller – and was laughing; Padfoot was trying to force a Gryffindor scarf over McGonagall's hat. She was wearing an expression that Harry had seen animals wear when they played with small children.

James and Lily's wands emerged after the photographs – he found, to his surprise, that he'd featured in quite a few of the later ones - and Padfoot spent a half-hour twirling James' between his fingers and telling the stories to explain where each and every dent, scratch and chip in the polish had come from.

When Padfoot put them down, Harry picked them up and held them carefully. He could see old fingerprints on the grips of both wands and wondered whether they belonged to his parents, or if they'd been left there when they were put in the box.

Padfoot and Moony got caught up in a friendly argument about whether the dent in the grip had come from the time Lily threw James' wand out of the Charms classroom window for making it rain lilies, or from the time James and Padfoot upset a Bowtruckle in Herbology, resulting in it breaking his thumb and attempting to break his wand before Padfoot could restrain it.

James' Chocolate Frog Card album emerged from the box a moment later. Padfoot accepted it, flicked through impatiently and then set it down on the table with a sigh.

"He never did find Morgana," he said sadly. Moony and Harry shared a confused look but Padfoot refused to explain and continued to dig through the box. There was an old Snitch that flapped feebly and gave up. Sirius picked it up and whispered something that sounded like a spell but it didn't respond. Padfoot nodded as if he'd expected nothing less.

Beneath that was a photograph, separate from all of the rest. It showed the five of them - Lily, James, Moony, Padfoot and Peter - out in the grounds, with Hogwarts castle and the Quidditch Pitch behind them. All three of them wanted a copy of that one, and so Padfoot copied it with a wave of his wand. Harry and Moony exchanged a look when Padfoot chased photo-Peter out of his copy with his wand, but neither said anything.

Padfoot had started to struggle with the Dementor's Draught at that point, so he'd gone to sit in the kitchen with Kreacher – presumably to have hot chocolate – while Harry and Moony lay on the training room floor, talking. When Padfoot came back, looking calmer, they'd sat up and resumed sorting.

Next was a large pile of books – Harry thought the box must have some sort of charm on it to have everything fit inside of it because there were at least twenty books – that had belonged to his parents. Some were just general books while others were obviously school textbooks; quite a few had _Lily Evans_ printed neatly in the front cover, or had conversations between the Marauders scrawled in the margins of the page.

Harry pulled out a piece of folded, lime green fabric which Padfoot identified as Lily's Healer robes. Harry held them carefully, unable to believe that his mother had once worn them, put her hand through the sleeves, kept her wand in the pocket. Unable to help himself, he held the fabric to his nose but he couldn't smell anything other than dust. He dropped the robes to one side, ignoring the pitying look he could feel from Padfoot and hastily picked up something else.

It was a small wooden box with a little metal clasp on it. Something rattled inside when he shook it gently, but he couldn't open it. He passed it to Moony who tried the latch, swore, and dropped it.

"Silver," he said through clenched teeth, showing them the small, but rapidly spreading burn on his thumb. Padfoot got up and ran out of the room.

"Why's it turning black?" Harry asked worriedly. "Does it usually-"

"Silver's worse when it's close to a full moon," Moony said, cradling his hand. "Oww. Since it's tonight-"

"Here," Padfoot said, passing Moony a small bottle. Moony dripped some onto the burn and let out a small, relaxed sigh. While Moony was seeing to his burn, Padfoot inspected the box. He turned it upside down several times, and frowned at it, and then grinned and muttered, "Aut viam inveniam aut faciam." Moony made a little annoyed noise in the back of his throat.

"I should have thought of that."

Padfoot smiled and lifted the lid. Inside was a confusing tangle of jewellery. There was a simple golden chain with a large ruby pendant that Moony said he remembered Dorea Potter wearing on formal occasions, a watch with a complicated face that had been Charlus Potter's before it had been James', and a collection of rings.

One was Lily's engagement ring, a ruby with diamonds surrounding it and one was her wedding ring, a simple gold band with a diamond. Another was silver, and Padfoot said he and James had received them when they graduated from the Auror Training Program. Moony decidedly didn't touch that one. The last was plain gold, and obviously a man's ring.

It was decided that it must have been Harold Evans' since both Moony and Padfoot were positive it wasn't James'; apparently Lily had engraved James' wedding ring to read 'Mischief Managed', while James had inscribed Lily's eternity ring with '1307', since that was the number of times he'd asked her out before she'd said yes. Neither ring was there, though.

"You won't find them," Moony said quietly, while Padfoot searched the little box again.

"Why not?"

"I- I made sure they were with them," Moony said, his voice wavering slightly. Padfoot's eyes filled with tears.

"Thank you," he whispered. Moony nodded.

"With them?" Harry asked tentatively.

"In their graves, kiddo," Padfoot said and then glanced at Moony. "I assume-" Padfoot cleared his throat and paused for a moment. "-they were buried?"

"In Godric's Hollow," Moony said, nodding.

_Where we lived_, Harry thought. He wondered if their house was still there, and if it was, whether they'd take him to see it. Part of him was curious, wanting to see the place where so many funny stories were set, and another part of him didn't want to go anywhere near it, because of what had happened there.

"Can-" Harry began and then bit his lip. "Can we maybe, I mean- if it's not-" He took a deep breath. "Could we visit, maybe?" he said in a rush.

"Of course," Padfoot said at once. "Now that we know where to find them, we can go whenever you'd like."

"You'll have to be careful," Moony said. "Malfoy's got someone stationed there full time."

"Halloween," Padfoot said, snapping his fingers. "Everyone else will be in costumes, so no one will look twice at us."

"Perfect," Moony said. Harry agreed; Halloween was only three weeks away. By then, Padfoot would have hopefully healed himself and Moony would have recovered from the full moon.

"You can go as a werewolf," Padfoot said seriously, looking at Moony.

"Oh, very funny," Moony laughed, lightening the mood. "Isn't it bad enough I have to spend tonight as one?"

"Moony," Padfoot said, looking concerned, "you're _always_ a werewolf..."

"That's not- I didn't mean that I'm not- I-" Moony threw his hands in the air. "I give up."

Padfoot sniggered and pulled a little box of badges out of the larger box; there was a Prefect badge, a Quidditch Captain badge, two Head badges, a Healer's badge, and an Auror Identification badge. Each badge had at least three stories associated with them, which Padfoot happily told; Moony seemed to withdraw into himself more as the afternoon drew on and only added comments here and there.

By the time the sun set, Moony was in an incredibly bad mood – he was lying on his back with an arm over his eyes, facing the ceiling – and growled if Harry or Padfoot came too close or talked to loudly. Padfoot, by contrast, had grown more animated as the afternoon drew on and by the time he assisted Moony down to the kitchen fireplace to go home, he was practically bouncing.

"Sadistic bastard," Moony muttered and then, holding his pile of Lily and James' things, said his address and vanished.

"Please try to stay here tonight," Padfoot said to Harry as they headed upstairs so that Padfoot could pack. "And _if_ anything happens, you can try to reach me through the mirror-" Harry had been given James' mirror, the partner to Padfoot's own "-or you can send a message with Hedwig, all right?"

"All right," Harry muttered, flushing. Padfoot grinned and stuffed a change of robes into his rucksack before hoisting it onto his shoulder.

"I'll see you in the morning, then."

"What, no list of rules I have to follow?" Harry asked.

"Nah," Padfoot said, hugging him. "Most of that was the Dementor's Draught talking."

"What, it made you responsible?" Harry joked.

"No, it made me think I was a bad guardian, so I set rules to shut it up." Padfoot ruffled Harry's hair and trotted out of the room, humming to himself.

* * *

"McKinnon," Arabella Figg said curtly.

"Arabella," Marlene replied politely.

The older woman's expression twisted and she continued past without another word, heading in the direction of her brother's ward. Marlene watched her go, a little irritated; Arabella Figg still hadn't forgiven her for taking Tufty all those years ago. Marlene hadn't cared at the time and didn't care now, though she thought Arabella was being petty. Besides, she'd known Lily better than Arabella had, and Arabella had already had a dozen cats while Marlene had had no one.

Tufty had died the year before, at the ripe old age of eleven and she'd gone to the Potter's cottage in Godric's Hollow and buried him under the birch tree in their front yard, where she remembered he'd liked to climb for fun - he'd had a prime view of the Apparition point, and also liked to watch the muggles living their daily lives - and for survival; Lily had often mentioned he'd climbed it to escape baby Harry's early magic, and that he'd spent a day there after Sirius bought Harry a broom for his first birthday.

That tree was where Marlene had found him, half-starved - shortly after her release from St Mungo's - when she'd gone with Dumbledore, Arabella, Hagrid and Lupin to salvage what they could of Lily and James' things. There were a number of things Marlene regretted in her life, but taking Tufty wasn't one of them.

She glanced after Arabella, shook her head and continued down the corridor. She knew St Mungo's better than her own home, so she wasn't paying much attention to where she was going but ended up in the right place anyway.

"Hi," she said softly, sitting down in the chair between Alice and Frank's beds. "How are you two today?" She waited for a moment. "That's good." Another pause. "I'm good, thank you. Mad-Eye sends his regards- Oh, yes, the Program's wonderful, thank you, Frank." Some days, she wouldn't talk to them at all. She'd just sit at their bedsides, waiting for them to start the conversation. Other days, she'd sit next to Alice and she'd just talk about anything and everything.

Even now, Marlene had no secrets from her best friend, except for Sirius showing up at her house. On days like today, Marlene would hold a single-sided conversation; a small part of her hoped that Alice and Frank were still sane on the inside and simply trapped in their bodies, and she tried to tell them the things they'd want to know.

"No, Alice," she said with a laugh. "I haven't worked with whatever that is. I assume it's some type of plant?" She paused. "Because it's always a plant, silly." She laughed.

Alice sighed softly and let out a small, "Hmm," sound.

"Fine," Marlene said. "It's not _always_ plants. Just mostly." Alice stared at the ceiling. "You're laughing on the inside," Marlene whispered, patting her hand. Alice whimpered and pulled her hand away, looking around for Marlene but not seeing her. "Sorry," Marlene murmured. "Pardon?" she asked, turning to Frank. "I told you last time," she said, smiling. "Gawain." She waited. "Yes, Gawain Robards. What other Gawain is there?" Alice shifted on her bed.

"No, only in my head. To his face I call him 'sir'. I don't think he'd mind if I did call him by his first name, though; we've been working together for a month now. I know. Time flies, doesn't it? October already... No, I'm not any closer to catching him."

Stupid Sirius. The Apparition traces he'd left had finished on the Hogsmeade road. Aurors had looked in the village itself – and found a pair of shoes, enchanted to walk on their own – and in the surrounding forests, but found nothing. Unless he was living somewhere nearby, he would almost certainly have Disapparated again, but no one had been able to find where from, and therefore, had no way of knowing where he'd gone.

To add insult to injury, Harry's Trace hadn't registered any magic all afternoon – or at all, since the event – meaning that the little boy either hadn't been Harry (which was unlikely) or that Sirius had somehow managed to ward against it. Number Twelve hadn't proved significant in any way, and while Marlene had kept an eye on it in the weeks since, just in case, no one had come or go using the door.

She supposed anyone could visit while she was out with Gawain, or at the Ministry but there wasn't much she could do about that. She'd considered setting up a Surveillance Charm, but hadn't been able to bring herself to do it; she wasn't _that_ paranoid-

Something poked her shoulder.

"Marlene?" Marlene pulled out her wand and turned to face- Neville. The poor boy looked terrified. He glanced at her wand and lowered his hand.

"Sorry," she said, blinking. Neither Alice or Frank seemed to have noticed her distraction. She plastered a smile on and gave Neville a quick hug. "Must have dozed off. Have you been there long?"

"It was the third time I'd called you," he said shyly.

"Sorry, love. Hello, Augusta," she said, nodding to Frank's stern mother. The older witch strode through the doors of the ward - vulture hat, blood-red handbag and all - and nodded back. Prewett followed her in and smiled sadly when she spied Marlene.

"Do you ever go home?" Prewett asked, coming to stand beside her.

"Only to sleep," Marlene said, with a small smile back. Her estimation of Prewett had grown significantly in the last few weeks; she'd seen her dedication to the Program and determination to do well, seen her grown more comfortable around the other trainees – well, Clarke and Tonks – and seen the way that she treated the all four Longbottoms.

Prewett had a tendency to worry about Neville and Augusta in particular – which she had been doing so much of late that she'd made herself sick a few days before – and that had made Marlene – who also cared about them – like her a little bit more.

"Hi, Mum," Neville whispered. Alice's blank eyes wandered before they finally landed on her son. She mumbled something and tapped the bedside table. Neville smiled, opened the drawer and pulled out a bright, yellow sweet wrapper. Tears pricked Marlene's eyes as Neville whispered a thank you, tucked the wrapper into his robe pocket and went to join his grandmother over by Frank's bed.

Marlene decided it was time to leave. Since Prewett was inside, it came as no surprise to find Auror Finch standing guard in the corridor outside. Shacklebolt, her Auror partner, was there, and Wellington was with him, looking sulky; he was still rather unpopular with most of the Auror Department after his fight with Tonks about Slytherins and Gryffindors.

"Hello," she said to the three of them, and then frowned. "Where's Clarke?"

"Mrs Longbottom wanted tea," Auror Finch sighed.

"Ah," Marlene said, her lips twitching. "Well, I'll leave you to it."

"Is Robards here with you?" Auror Shacklebolt asked.

"No," Marlene said and didn't offer any more explanation than that. She still wasn't sure how much Aurors were allowed to know about each other's assignments. "I'm off to meet with him now."

"But it's almost six," Wellington said, surprised out of his sulky state.

"We're working a night shift tonight." Gawain's current assignment was to keep an eye on a Knockturn Alley entrepreneur who charged a significant fee to supposedly bring people back from the dead. What he'd really did, however, was create Inferi that would attack the customers the moment they'd paid him.

He operated by night and was surprisingly clever; while Marlene and Gawain knew the truth of what he was up to, none of his clients were willing to turn him in, and those that might have been, ended up dead before they had the chance. It was looking more and more like they were going to have to go undercover and pretend to be clients, but that was understandably difficult, because it would mean getting their hands on a body.

"You'd best be off, then," Auror Finch said. She checked her watch and poked her head into Alice and Frank's ward. "Florence, you're free to go."

"I'm going to stay as long as they do," Prewett murmured. Finch nodded and pulled the door shut.

"Can I go too?" Wellington asked. Shacklebolt considered him for a moment and then nodded.

"I'll see you tomorrow morning at my cubicle."

"Yes, sir. Are you heading this way, McKinnon?"

"For a while," she said. "I have to make a stop before I leave, though."

"Why is everyone still angry at me?" Wellington asked as they walked.

"Because you're a bigot," Marlene told him flatly. "People aren't just going to change their minds and suddenly decide you were right all along. You aren't right." Wellington was looking sulky again. Marlene resisted the temptation to ask if he was four years old or twenty four. "You were a Gryffindor. Be brave enough to admit you were wrong, and start to change the way you see the world."

"Why do I have to change?"

"It's that or be left behind," she told him, leading the way down a hallway she knew well. "I know what I'd pick."

"How do you know I was wrong?" he asked.

"You said Sirius Black wasn't in Gryffindor. He was. You should _know _that, since he was only a few years ahead of you at school." She rolled her eyes. "You shared a Common Room for three years for Godric's sake." Wellington's lips moved silently.

"Wait," he said stopping. "Not Sirius, as in Sirius and James?"

"Yes," she said. "That Sirius. Played Beater, had a brother in Slytherin. Honestly, how many Sirius Blacks do you think there are running around Britain?"

"That's him?" Wellington repeated, looking stunned.

"How in Merlin's name did you get the N.E.W.T.s required for the Program if you couldn't work that out?" Marlene asked him, rolling her eyes.

"But-but he was cool!"

"Yes, he _was_."

"How do you know so much about him?" Wellington asked.

Marlene glanced at him over her shoulder. "I'll leave you to figure that out." She knocked once and opened the door. "See you on Friday. I suggest you rethink a few things between now and then."

"Yeah," Wellington agreed, rubbing the back of his neck. "And hey, thanks."

"For what?"

"Talking to me. No one else has since the fight."

Marlene knew for a fact that wasn't true but she thought she'd already given him a hard enough time today. She just nodded at him, walked into Mary's room and closed the door.

"Is this a bad time?" she asked, watching Mary make the hospital bed.

Mary glanced up, blank-faced and then remembered to smile; during Marlene's seventh year, Mary's family - for all that Mr and Mrs MacDonald had tried to protect them - had been attacked by Death Eaters. Her parents had been killed but Mary and her younger sister had survived, though at a price; Susan had been left a Squib, while the curse intended to stop Mary's heart had only affected her figurative heart and so ruined her ability to feel strong emotions.

She couldn't get upset and she couldn't love or hate, couldn't get excited or silly over little things and couldn't mourn. She'd retained just enough personality to want to make a difference by becoming a Healer and so she had. Her professional - for lack of another word - nature had made her successful but she herself was a resident of St Mungo's long-term ward and under near constant supervision.

Susan MacDonald was that supervisor, and as usual, was only a few feet from her sister – sitting on her own bed - in unassuming black robes that seemed to swallow her wispy figure. She gave Marlene a small smile.

"Your timing's fine," Mary replied, smoothing out a crease in the pillowcase. She took a step toward Marlene and just like that, Susan was up and hovering at her shoulder. "Are you hungry? I'm about to take dinner to Frank and Alice-"

"No, I've just been," Marlene said. "Neville and Augusta are there, though." Susan's careful expression brightened slightly but Mary seemed unimpressed.

"That's nice, I suppose. I don't really have time for a chat unless you're coming, Marlene."

"That's all right," Marlene said, too used to Mary's blunt demeanour to take offence. "I'm on my way out anyway. I just wanted to say hello."

"Well, you've said it."

"I have," Marlene agreed, smiling slightly. "I'll see you next time." Mary flicked her wand at her Healer's kit which floated over from a table in the corner.

"We'll be here," Mary said with a smile. Marlene knew she wasn't actually looking forward to it - she couldn't - but when she wanted to be, Mary could be convincing. She'd learned a variety of friendly facial expressions that made people more comfortable around her. She and Susan swept past - Susan with a little nod, because Susan rarely spoke to anyone but her sister - leaving Marlene alone in the room.

She was a little worried that Wellington might have waited so she decided to waste a few minutes. Marlene crossed to the little desk on Mary's side of the room to look at the collection of photographs Susan had put there; she'd hoped to get an emotional response out of her sister, but none of the three photographs had triggered one.

One was of the MacDonald family, likely at the beginning of Mary's fourth - and Marlene's third - year if Mary's haircut was anything to go by. The second was of Mary, Lily and Snape in their fifth year - Lily was wearing her Prefect badge, and was still friends with Snape - and the third was a copy of the photograph Marlene had somewhere at home. It was Mary, Marlene, Alice and Lily at the end of Marlene's fifth year - so Mary's sixth - in one of the school carriages.

She picked it up, looking sadly at the girls in the picture, who had been so carefree back then, so innocent and - in Lily and Alice's cases - so alive.

Mary smiled shyly at the camera - she'd been mostly recovered from the incident with Mulciber by then - Alice waved happily and blew a kiss - the picture had been taken by Frank after all - Lily grinned and then glanced out the window, her expression transforming into a scowl before she ducked out of the way and swapped seats with photo-Marlene; Sirius and James had stuck their heads through the carriage window - James talked to Lily, who rolled her eyes, while Sirius stole a kiss from Marlene-

Someone knocked on the door. She slammed the picture back onto Mary's desk and turned away.

"Yes?" she demanded. The door swung open revealing - to her great surprise - _Lupin_ of all people.

"I'm looking for Healer Mac- McKinnon?"

"Lupin," she said, nodding. Once, she'd have trusted him with her life - and still probably would if it came to it - but despite that, they'd never been close, or even on first name terms. It was strange, really, when one considered how friendly she'd been with James and Sirius. "What are you doing here?"

"The full moon was two nights ago," he said, grimacing. She knew all about his condition of course. All of the Order had. He hesitated and then stepped further into the room. "I've patched myself up as best as I could but I need something for the pain and those sorts of potions are beyond my ability range..." He gave a little self-depreciating shrug.

"Mary's just gone to see Alice and Frank," Marlene said.

"Oh," he said. "Thank you."

"Do you know how to get there?" she asked.

He smiled gently. "I might not come as regularly as you do, but I'm hardly unfamiliar with this place."

"Right," she said. Lupin smiled and walked out. She hurried after him. "I hear you're with the search." He inclined his head. "I'm looking too. I joined the Aurors." She wasn't sure why she was telling him all of this. Maybe it was because she knew he'd understand; he'd known Sirius too. He knew what the betrayal felt like. "I'm going to find him, and kill him."

"I didn't think Aurors were allowed to-"

"They're not."

"Oh," Lupin said.

* * *

Azkaban was just he way he remembered it. There was the rocky, windy beach and the path that led up the side of the cliff and then split into three. There was the guardroom - where he'd retrieved his wand and mirror from - the main building – where prisoners were taken for questioning – and then, to the left of both of those was the actual prison area.

Azkaban was as grey as he remembered, and the Dementors were just as black as they glided past his cell. His cell was the same, too, with the markings on the wall, the rusty bars and the tiny window that overlooked island's graveyard and the stormy ocean.

_Merlin, it's tiny in here_, he thought, pacing around the tiny cell. _It's a wonder I didn't go mad..._

A Dementor glided past again. That had been the first part of this process; binding the Dementor's Draught in a physical form – well, not physical, but there really wasn't a better way to describe it – so that, at the very least, he was able to differentiate it from his own thoughts. That was something he'd had trouble with for quite some time, particularly since there were no books to tell him how to do so. Maybe he'd write one.

The second part of his plan had been to create Azkaban. It was logical, because – as far as he was concerned – that's where Dementors belonged. Azkaban was also a place he was familiar with, and, while it also had plenty of places to hide, there was also plenty of space for him to move around.

The third part of his plan had been to insert himself into his own head; the books he'd read said that Occlumency landscapes were often seen as if they were a photograph – with the person whose mind it was looking down or in, instead of standing there themselves. Sirius, though, needed to be inside for this. That had been the hardest part, taking him the entirety of September; it was beyond weird to walk around in his own mind.

Once inside, he'd needed to get control of his magical abilities; he'd started by trying to transform into Padfoot. That was something that came naturally to him when he was in Azkaban, and something that he could do without a wand. All he needed was his magic. It had taken him a while, but he'd managed it on the first of October after two days of trying. He'd then had moved on to fashioning himself a wand, which he'd managed – and even got sparks out of – on the Thursday before the October full moon.

It was now the following Thursday – it had been a rough full moon and he and Remus had needed the time to recover – almost mid-way through October and he was ready to attempt the last stage of his plan.

Sirius, still in his cell, pulled his wand out of his pocket and thought, _Alohomora._ The cell door clicked and slid open, which was promising. He stepped out, stretching. It was unbelievably liberating to be able to come and go from his cell as he pleased.

As expected, the Dementors sensed that he was on the move – just as they would if this was the real Azkaban – and flocked to where he was standing. He'd prepared his happy memories for this specifically, so he didn't panic; he thought of Harry agreeing to live with him, of Moony apologising, of Moony bringing Harry home from St Mungo's, of Kreacher being nice as he was most of the time now, of James and Lily and Reg - because damn it, he didn't have to be sad _every _time he thought of them.

_Expecto Patronum_, he thought, and hoped it would work despite the non-verbal charm.

His Patronus was still Padfoot – that was hardly surprising, given how he'd relied on his dog-form to protect him from these very creatures during his real stint in Azkaban. The enormous dog, glowing so blue it was almost white, burst out of the tip of his wand and bounded toward the Dementors, scattering them. Padfoot trotted back, tail wagging so fast and so brightly it was dizzying.

The Dementors crept forward again. Sirius gave the Patronus access to every happy memory he had; he was in his mind, after all. There were happy memories all over the place – scattered, yes, and some happier than others – but there. Padfoot glowed white now. Sirius wanted to close his eyes to protect them but he wasn't sure what sort of effect that would have, so he gritted his teeth and endured it; surely it couldn't actually be hurting his real eyes, since this was all happening inside his head.

The Dementors began to fade.

_Yes, _Sirius hissed. Padfoot glowed brighter – if that was even possible – fuelled by Sirius' triumph. The Dementors didn't actually vanish. Padfoot simply glowed so brightly they weren't there anymore. _The light to chase the darkness away_, he thought fiercely happy; it was as if his ability to be happy had been shoved to the furthest, darkest corners of his mind – which now resembled the stormy North Sea – and was now released.

Joy and excitement and love and hope and trust and elation and confidence and _life _came rushing back to him.

Padfoot glowed so brightly that Sirius couldn't see anything at all but he was too content to care.


	30. Changing Faces

"Theodora? Er... Tock?"

"What are you doing in my bedroom?" Tonks asked fuzzily. She knew the voice; it belonged to Remus, but she had no idea what he was doing here. Someone laughed loudly. "And don't call me that name."

"Dora," Remus said, sounding amused, "you need to wake up. You're squashing Arabella."

Tonks opened her eyes. Everything was blurry and dark, but her eyes adjusted quickly. She was in the Leaky Cauldron, at lunch time – if the crowd was anything to judge by. The thing she'd thought was her pillow was actually Arabella's shoulder, and she'd had her neck bent at an odd angle to rest there.

"Oww," she said, rubbing it. She scanned the faces across the table – Dirk's and – for once - the astoundingly elusive Debbie's, to find Remus'. "And you called me Dora."

"I wasn't sure which you were referring to when you said 'that name'," Remus said, shrugging.

"Mmm. You call call me Dora if you like." She yawned, rubbed her eyes, and then glanced at the empty chair next to hers. "Where'd Matt go?"

"He was laughing too much. He went to settle down," Debbie said, almost fondly. She seemed to like Matt and Remus more than she did Arabella, Dirk or Tonks. "'Leave me alone, Helga' was hard enough for him, and then you made the comment about the bedroom and we sent him away."

"What did I say about Helga?" Tonks asked warily.

"You told her to leave you alone," Dirk said, shrugging. "And you almost took me out, swatting at something."

"Well," Remus said, "now that we're all awake, are we ready to keep going?" Tonks flushed, and had to make an effort to stop her hair turning the same colour.

Remus dealt out his instructions – Debbie was to wait for Matt and tell him his when he stopped laughing – and then they left.

"I'm really sorry," Tonks said dejectedly. "I didn't mean-"

"The Program's demanding," Remus said with a kind smile. "I know people who've done it and fallen asleep in worse places than the Leaky Cauldron, I assure you."

"Like where?" she asked, curious depite herself.

Remus thought for a moment. "The worst one is probably the Floo – this was after nearly three days without sleep, mind, because of the Program, and also the war. Sirius fell asleep in the Floo on the way to training, missed the Ministry and ended up in a little old witch's cottage in Somerset. We were all frantic – James in particular, because they always met in the atrium and then went to training together – thought he might have been intercepted by Death Eaters or something-"

"Maybe he was," Tonk suggested, though privately, she admired Remus; to be able to talk about something like that in an amused, even fond way was nothing short of astounding. She generally cursed Sirius' name when she spoke about him, if she spoke about him at all. When she said this to Remus, he smiled.

"It's not admirable at all, really," he said. He offered her another small smile. "I actually have trouble remembering that I'm supposed to hate him, sometimes. It can be very confusing."

"Have you ever woken up somewhere strange?"

"More times than I can count. Two weeks ago, I woke up in the forest behind my house."

She grinned. "Sleepwalking, eh?"

"Something like that," he agreed, with a return grin.

"How's your collarbone, by the way?"

"Fully fixed," he said, prodding it. "I've got a friend who's very good with healing magic, thankfully, and he managed to get all of the pieces back together." He gave her a wry smile. "Extremely painful, but that's what Painkilling Potions are for... Can I ask you something?"

"Sure," she said, shrugging.

"Who's Helga?"

"Oh," Tonks said, with a grimace. "I should have known you'd want to know that. She's Keith's owl." Remus knew about Keith – he'd come into the Leaky Cauldron one morning and she'd had to hide, just in case he recognised her. It was unlikely, given how bad he was at recognising her when she didn't have brightly coloured hair, but she'd wanted to be safe.

"Are you not speaking at the moment?" Remus asked.

"No, we are," she said quickly. "But I've stopped replying to owls after eleven at night because Mad-Eye always has me up early for a briefing on days with 'N's in them. Keith doesn't seem to get that I need to sleep, or I start falling asleep and snapping at everyone. And, when I don't let the owl in after eleven, she taps at my window, and when I do let her in, she pesters me until I write back."

"And once you write back, the whole process starts again," Remus said ruefully. "Am I right?"

"I swear, Keith doesn't sleep," she joked. "He just sits awake all night, waiting for letters. Maybe it's just me. A normal girlfriend would stay up all night, writing back." Remus chuckled.

"If he wanted a normal girlfriend, you were the wrong girl to pick," he said, smiling, as they crossed the road.

"Are you calling me strange?" she demanded, trying to fight a smile.

"You're not what I'd call ordinary," he said, looking a little apologetic.

"No, probably not," she agreed, grinning. She took a quick look around and – since there were no muggles around – made her hair flash brightly. Remus laughed again.

"When did you start calling him Mad-Eye, by the way?" he asked. Tonks frowned, trying to think back.

"I'm not entirely sure. It just sort of happened..." She grinned. "Maybe I'm spending too much time with you."

"Maybe," Remus agreed, his lips twitching.

"So, any troublesome owls in your life at the moment?" she asked.

"No, thank Merlin." He smiled. "Aunt Catherine comes by every now and then, though." Tonks, from what Remus had said to her, had gathered that he wasn't overly fond of his aunt. He hadn't explained all of the reasons behind it, but she supposed it was reasonably personal and hadn't pressed him.

"I think I'll keep Helga," Tonks said fervently.

"Well damn," Remus said. "I was going to suggest a switch." Tonks glanced at him, laughing. "What?" he asked.

"You've been happier lately," she said. As if to confirm what she'd just said, he grinned.

"It's the little things," he said. "A friend was sick and now he's better, my collarbone's fixed, soon, I won't have to put up with Malfoy ever again, I've got a part-time teaching job... things like that."

"The Malfoy part sounds especially good," she said enviously.

"Yes," he said, grinning. "Thank you very much for that, by the way."

"You should be extremely grateful," she said, shaking her head at him. "As of the new year, you'll be free of him."

"The new year?" Remus asked, sobering immediately.

"Yep," she said. "Why? What's wrong?"

"Nothing..." he said. "It's just further away than I expected." He smiled, but something was off about it. "I'd hoped to be free of Malfoy sooner..."

Tonks' eyes skimmed over a boy and his father. _Nope, _she thought. _Not Sirius. _She looked back to Remus, who was frowning thoughtfully.

"He said the new year when I spoke with him... Are you sure everything's all right?"

He sighed. "I was planning to go away after Christmas, but I might have to stick around a bit longer. It's nothing to worry about. I'll just have to make other arrangements."

"Where are you going?"

"To visit an old acquaintance. I see him every year."

"You sound so excited," she teased.

"He's horrible," Remus said, shuddering, as they dodged a cluster of muggles who were waiting at a bus stop. "But it keeps him happy, and that's what's important. What have you been doing in the Program, lately?"

"Subtle," she told him. He grimaced and she decided to answer anyway. "We did this obstacle course the other day, to build our fitness levels, and then we had to learn how to cast Diagnostic Charms..."

Remus, as it turned out, was familiar with Diagnostic Charms, and they spent most of the afternoon discussing various types and then progressed to talking about healing charms. Those were a weak area of Tonks' so she listened eagerly; she and the other trainees would be covering more of this sort of magic next Friday and she wanted to do well, since Scrimgeour had hinted at an upcoming assessment.

After the day with Remus, searching – there was still no sign of Sirius, unfortunately – she'd Apparated home to pack an overnight bag; she was sleeping at Mad-Eye's because they were starting early the next day and he wanted time to brief her before; there was a chance they might actually be dealing with werewolves tomorrow, and, though the full moon was not for another week and a half, Mad-Eye thought there were some things she needed to be aware of.

"Nymphadora!"

"Sorry!" she called through her bedroom door. She _really_ needed to work out how to Apparate quietly. "And don't-"

"Keith's here!"

"He- what?" Tonks stopped searching for her favourite, baggy t-shirt and pyjama pants - she was _sure_ she'd hung them on her desk chair that morning... - as someone knocked on her door. "Hang on," she said. "I'm... er... changing."

"Oh, sorry," Keith said.

Tonks pulled on the first clean clothes she touched – a skirt, a t-shirt and a leather jacket – and erased Tock's face, giving herself bright blue hair, brown eyes and a long nose. She kicked Tock's conservative robes under her desk.

"Come in," she called as she pulled on long, warm socks and a pair of boots. Keith entered, with Canis trotting at his heels; her evil cat had taken a strange liking to him in the last week. "Sorry about the mess. I didn't know you were coming," she said, kissing him. If she had, she might have stuffed all of her loose clothes in her cupboard or something. Or, she might have just kept him out of her room. "How long have you been waiting?"

"Your mum let me in when she got home," he said. "An hour and a bit maybe? I'm not sure. We had tea."

"Right," she said faintly, and then shook herself. "So, what's going on?"

"Nothing. I just wanted to see you." She smiled at him and nudged Canis away from a pair of jeans that she'd probably wear tomorrow. He hissed at her and stalked over to sit beside Keith, who was perched on the end of her unmade bed. "Where are you off to?" he asked.

"Mad-Eye's," she said absently. "It'll mean I get an extra hour of sleep tonight, which I need badly; I fell asleep today!"

"I think they make you work too hard in the Program," he said. "You're out every day-"

"I'm making lots," she said, shrugging. She paused, tring to remember where she'd left her money bag and then gave up and Summoned it. It had been buried under her pyjama pants. She beamed and Summoned those and her t-shirt too. "And it's interesting."

"So if you're at Mad-Eye's tonight, you aren't free?"

"No, I'm due there in-" She checked her watch. "-ten minutes."

"Maybe I'll owl you tonight. Where does he live?"

"I don't know that I'm allowed to tell you that-"

"Why not?"

"Because Mad-Eye didn't even tell _me_ where he lived. I had to find out. He's paranoid." She closed her rucksack and went to sit next to him on the bed. Canis glowered at her and flicked his tail. Keith sighed.

"And you can't tell me what you were doing today, can you?"

"No," she said apologetically. "I was undercover."

"How about tomorrow?"

"We're investigating a werewolf," she said, relieved to be able to tell him something. His face fell.

"You're only a trainee," he whispered. "You're not ready for that."

"If I wasn't ready, Mad-Eye wouldn't be taking me," she said, folding her arms; this was an argument they'd had more times than she could count. "Besides, I have to get experience somehow. I know you don't like it-"

"So why do you do it?"

"Er..." She wondered if this was a trick question, or if he'd asked it without thinking it through. "Because it's my job..."

"I mean the whole Auror thing," he said, kissing her cheek. She shifted a little closer to him and took his hand. "Explain it to me."

"Why do you play Quidditch?" she asked, smiling. "I do it because it's interesting, and I enjoy it, and because I can help people."

"Mmm," he said, drawing a little circle on her hand with his thumb. "I suppose I'll see you tomorrow, then?"

"I have to go into the Ministry tomorrow afternoon. They figured we've settled in enough to train us on days other than Friday. It's only for an hour," she said hastily, watching his expression. "And then I'll see you afterward? At about seven thirty? Just in case it runs late?"

"Seven thirty?"

"They have to make the sessions early or late so that everyone can make it," she said, shrugging. "Is that all right for you?"

"Yeah, I'll meet you at the Ministry, all right?" he said, sounding considerably brighter.

"Sounds brilliant." She grimaced at her watch and grabbed her rucksack. "I've really got to go now or I'll be late." She kissed him and then they walked to the front door – she called a goodbye to Mum as she went - kissed again on the doorstep and then went their separate ways.

She slung her rucksack over one shoulder and Disapparated, praying that Mad-Eye's front garden would leave her alone; the last time she'd visited, his dustbins had attacked her – she'd remembered Dumbledore's advice from back in September, and bound them with a Body-Bind – and the time before that, his grass had wound around her shoes and tripped her up. She'd set his garden on fire in retaliation.

She passed the post-box without incident, and headed up the path. It didn't try to envelope her feet, as it had done once before, so that was a good sign. The dustbins stayed where they were and the neatly trimmed grass didn't start to grow alarmingly quickly.

_Oh, thank Merlin_, she thought, reaching the front door. She knocked once, waited, and then lifted her hand to knock again, when something pulled her feet out from under her.

"Bloody hell," she hissed, trying to free her legs from the garden hose which was coiling around them like a constrictor. "Mad-Eye!" she called irritably; she was certain the he was standing on the other side of the door, watching her with his magical eye. "_Relashio!_" The hose was around her chest now, and had pinned one arm to her side. "_Relashio_," she tried again. The nozzle lifted up, the way a snake might lift its head. If it had had eyes, it would have been staring at her.

She had a horrible premonition of what was to come.

"Oh, no you-" she began, when a jet of freezing water hit her in the face. She spluttered and coughed and, after several seconds of spray, managed to flick her wand at the tap. The flood of water stopped, thankfully. "_Finite Incantatem_," she said, through chattering teeth. The hose went limp and she managed to wriggle away and scramble to her feet.

Mad-Eye was standing in the doorway, one eye on the large puddle by his doorstep and the limp hose, the other on her. She glowered at him.

"You're early," he growled, nodding his approval. She groaned. "You know where the shower is, don't you?"

"Y-yes," she said, shivering. He stood aside to let her in. Dripping, she stalked inside and almost slipped the moment her wet boot touched the floorboards. She caught herself on the wall and – without looking at Mad-Eye, who she just knew was laughing at her – proceeded toward the bathroom very, very carefully.

* * *

"Do you mind if I stand here... with you?"

"Go ahead," Tonks said neutrally. Wellington gave her a tentative smile and glanced at Marlene, who nodded. Prewett gave him a rather chilly look, but if she had a problem with it, she didn't mention it.

"I was a Slytherin," Clarke said, matter of factly. "That doesn't... bother you?"

"A bit," Wellington said. Marlene smiled at the Gryffindor honesty. "But I'm working on it." Clarke beamed and held out his hand. Wellington shook it without hesitation.

"Good evening," Taure said, striding into the room; they were working on Concealment and Disguises today, or so she assumed – that's what room they were in. Fifteen cauldrons lined one wall and shelves of ingredients, potion bottles and books lined the one adjacent to it.

On the wall opposite the cauldrons were two rows of twenty cubicles, obviously intended as changerooms. Racks of clothing lined either side of the door Taure had just come in through. The middle of the room, where the trainees were gathered, was wide open space.

"Welcome to your first Concealment and Disguises lesson. I'm Auror Taure – most of you met me in the interview process; I was the one with the animal mirror."

"Why is it tonight?" Dale asked, putting one pink-nailed hand in the air.

"It's after hours so it doesn't affect your daily routine with your mentors. It is on tonight, because tonight is Wednesday and Wednesdays are for Concealment and Disguises. Thursdays will be for Stealth and Tracking... you get the idea. Fridays are still full training days; they will cover general skills, or cover one of the seven specialised skill areas in more detail than we will in these hourly sessions. There will also be two hours every Friday dedicated to the development of a skill of your choice – they'll tell you more about that later."

"Your mentors have a copy of Friday's rotation so ask them if you're interested. If not, just show up and do what everyone else does." Several people laughed. "So, what we do here, in this room is fairly self-explanatory if you read the sign on the door when you walked through. We'll be teaching you a variety of muggle and magical techniques. Which one you prefer to use is up to you – they all have their advantages, or we wouldn't teach them – but you will be expected to maintain some level of proficieny in all of them."

"Today, we'll be doing a fairly simple preliminary task. You're being given access to anything in this room; all of the potions, all of the cauldrons and ingredients – I wouldn't recommend brewing anything, though, because I'm only giving you ten minutes to be ready - all of the clothes and jewellery, all of the muggle hair dyes and cosmetics... anything in this room. No wands, though. Your job is to make yourself unrecognisable."

"When your ten minutes is up, I'll line you all up and one by one, you'll stand up in front of the other trainees. They have three chances to guess who you are and give a reason as to why they think so. In this activity, you_want_ your fellow trainees to fail. Claim a cubicle and get ready. If you finish before the ten minutes is up, stay there anyway. Time starts now. _Tempus Admonius._"

Marlene was a little stunned that his lecture cut off so quickly. She shook herself, hurried over to a cubicle and closed the door. Inside was a full length mirror, several hooks for clothing and a bench-top with a sink and a box of muggle make-up.

Marlene pulled out her wand to cast an Appearance Altering Charm and then remembered Taure had said no wands. She grumbled under her breath, set her wand down on the table in her cubicle and ran out again. She spent a moment browsing the clothes racks and then grabbed a few things – all too aware that time was precious – and took them back to her cubicle. She didn't stay though and headed for the shelves of potions.

Each bottle had a label stuck to it that named the potion, its effects and how long they would last. Feeling as though she could kiss the person who'd spent the time doing that, she grabbed a potion that would give her blond hair, one that would make her a little shorter, one that would make her gain bit of weight, one that would make her look five years younger – since she was one of the oldest trainees - and one that would change her nose shape.

She balanced them precariously in her arms on the way back to her cubicle, shut the door and began to gulp them down. While they changed her appearance – which was an odd feeling, since so many things were happening at once – she changed into a long skirt, a flowery button-up shirt and a knitted cardigan, since they were things she'd _never_ wear. She added a few touches of make-up – which was significantly harder than she'd thought it would be – and then leaned back against the bench to wait.

It was only ten seconds later that a shrill ringing noise started – whoever was in the cubicle next to Marlene's screamed – and Taure called them out.

Marlene walked out of her cubicle at the same time as everyone else. Quite a few people were easily recognisable; Dale had replaced her usual pink with blue and had darkened her hair but otherwise looked exactly the same, while Gaspar had changed everything except for his dreadlocks. Others looked completely different; someone had turned themself into a little old lady, and another person looked a lot like a man who played for the Chudley Cannons.

Marlene joined the others in line while Taure brought a thin girl with long blond hair, big blue eyes and a very white smile up to the front of the class.

"Patel," someone called. The girl's face fell and she nodded and was sent back into the line. The next person came forward – the little old woman, who no one managed to guess the identity of – and then the next.

"McKinnon," someone said, when a dark haired woman with green eyes and a nose like Snape's shuffled up.

_No,_ Marlene thought as the witch shook her head.

"Prewett," another trainee called.

"No," the witch said in a wheezy voice; she was the first one who'd spoken – everyone else just shook their head – but her voice wasn't familiar.

"Edwards." The witch smiled, showing several missing teeth, and shook her head.

"Bad luck," she wheezed, and clutched at her shawls as she shuffled off of the stage. She came to stand beside Marlene.

"Who are you?" Marlene whispered.

"That'd be giving things away," the witch said, with another gappy smile. "Play by the rules, McKinnon."

"I'm not McKinnon," Marlene whispered back. The witch just smiled cheerily as Marlene stepped up.

"Wright," someone said. She shook her head.

"McKinnon," said a short, squat woman in the front row. Marlene's eyes narrowed and she nodded. The woman looked satisfied as she passed Marlene on the way up.

"Told you," the witch with missing teeth whispered when Marlene rejoined the line. No one guessed the squat witch's identity, but the tall man who followed was Bulkes – which the squat woman also guessed. She identified the one after too, which was Edwards.

"Clarke," Marlene said, taking the third and final guess for the man who looked like a Quidditch player. He grinned and gave her a thumbs up, before coming to stand next to her.

The session was running fifteen minutes late by the time it ended, but Marlene didn't mind. The squat woman who'd guessed so many of the other trainees turned out to be Prewett, while the witch with the teeth missing was Tonks.

"How did you guess it was me?" Marlene asked both of them, as she used her wand to take the make-up off her face. Prewett just shrugged. Tonks, though, answered.

"You have the same eyes," she said, shrugging. "Same shape, same colour, same look in them. And you stand the same. Very straight backed."

"How do you notice these things?" Marlene asked, astonished. The potions were starting to wear off and she felt herself grow several inches. Next to her, Prewett slimmed down but didn't grow at all.

"I've pretended to be a lot of people," Tonks said. Her face rearranged as she spoke. "If you want to get away with it, you have to pay attention to these things."

"What do you actually look like?" Prewett asked Tonks curiously.

"I don't really know," she said. She grew a tiny bit – until her head was at Marlene's nose level – her nose became buttony with a few faint freckles and her face was heart shaped, like Marlene remembered Andy's being. Her hair flickered through several colours, as if she couldn't decide which of them it was supposed to be, and her eyes were doing the same thing. "A bit like this," she said, her hair and eyes still flashing. She had Ted's smile.

Marlene noticed she kept the smile and the heart shaped face but the rest of her features rearranged again. Prewett looked absolutely fascinated.

"Could you become an animal?" Prewett asked. "You could be an Animagus with a hundred forms!"

"I'll never be an Animagus," Tonks said. "The mirror during the testing didn't work for me. But I think I could make myself a cat or something... it's be hard though. I'd have to change everything individually, so it probably wouldn't work..."

"But you can change multiple things at once," Prewett said. "You do things together all the time."

"Yeah, external things," Tonks said. "And sometimes bones, if I want my arms or legs to grow, but being an animal would mean changing hundreds of things at once..."

"Maybe that could be your skill," Marlene suggested. "To learn how to do that. It's a bit unusual, but I'm sure they'll be accommodating... It'd be a useful skill to have." Tonks' eyes brightened. Marlene smiled, and ducked into a cubicle to change. Prewett and Tonks did the same. They continued talking anyway.

"What are you going to do, McKinnon?" Prewett's voice asked.

"Wandless magic would be cool," she admitted. She'd always wanted to learn how to do that. "You?"

"Occlumency," Prewett said immediately.

"Got something to hide?" Marlene called over the cubicle wall.

"A few stories from Hogwarts," Prewett said. She was grinning if her tone was anything to go by. Then she went quiet and added, "I just like the idea of control." Marlene's mind immediately jumped to the situation with Neville and Augusta and wondered if that was what she meant.

"Florence?" That was Clarke.

"In here," Prewett called.

"Sorry!" he said. "Auror Finch wants us when you're done, though." Marlene wrapped her scarf around her neck and stepped out of her cubicle, startling Wellington, who was waiting with Clarke.

"Good Godric!" he said, clutching his chest. "Give a man some warning, would you?"

"Constant vigilance!" Tonks called from her cubicle. The other three exchanged bemused looks but Marlene understood and chuckled to herself. Tonks emerged a moment later and shared a small smile with Marlene.

"I'm off," she announced. Her green fringe flopped into her face and she glared at it until it shrank out of the way. Marlene shook her head, amused, as Tonks waved and walked off, managing to trip on a pair of trainers someone had left on the floor.

"We'd better go too," Prewett said, wandering out of her cubicle. She smiled at Clarke. "Where's Finch?" He flushed and led her away. Wellington trailed after them - obviously needed by Shacklebolt - but not quite sure whether he was forgiven enough to walk beside them again yet.

Marlene checked her cubicle to make sure she hadn't left anything behind and then headed out of the Concealment and Disguises room, toward the broom cupboard exit.

* * *

Rough hands grabbed Matt's shirt and hauled him into a dim sidestreet before he knew what was happening. He tried to pull the hands off and when that didn't work, reached for his wand, which was in his back pocket.

"Relax, boy," a hoarse, growling voice said. The speaker's foul breath blew into his face and Matt almost retched; partially due to the awful smell, and partially due to the fact that he'd recognised the speaker.

"Sir," he said, and stopped struggling immediately. He even dipped his head slightly. Greyback released him and stepped back. "Is everything all right?"

"Is now," he said, with a feral smile. Matt didn't like the look of it one bit and Greyback probably picked that up in his scent, because the smile widened. "I'm being followed."

"By who?" Matt asked.

"Aurors. Damn wizards, think they're better'n us, think they've got the right to follow me, to interfere with the cause." Matt said nothing. "It's your lucky day, boy."

"Why?" Matt asked cautiously.

"Because you get to help." Greyback's eyes gleamed in the light from a muggle restaurant. "Do something for me, in return for all I've given you." Matt gave Greyback a stony look, secretly praying that Remus was with him; Remus had been there every other time he'd been around Greyback, and – more importantly – knew how to handle him. "It's an easy job, really."

"I don't want any trouble with the Aurors," Matt said.

"Neither do I. That's where you come in. Change my face a bit with that wand of yours and then walk me to the Leaky Cauldron."

"Why can't you Apparate?"

"No wand," Greyback said, shrugging. "I don't want it taken away, now do I?"

"Why are you out in the first place?" Matt dared to ask. Greyback watching him for a moment, as if deciding whether he was trustworthy or not.

"I've been visiting your siblings."

"Which ones?" Matt asked warily.

"One's a muggle," Greyback said.

_Debbie. _Matt fought several, strong protective urges. In the end, he shoved his hands in his pocket so that he didn't strangle Greyback. That could end badly.

"Older woman I gifted in June. She was found and taken to St Mungo's before I could get her to the camp. It's taken me this long to track her down again. She's been spending time with Lupin." Greyback's lip curled when he said Remus' name. Matt felt his dislike for Greyback increase – if that was even possible. Greyback laughed, an odd, growling sound. "I forgot you're one of his little pets."

"Who are the others?"

"You know them better'n I do, probably."

"I meant the... siblings you've been looking for."

"Get casting," Greyback said, poking Matt hard in the chest with a long nailed finger. Matt fumbled with his wand, trying to remember the spells Remus had taught him for this sort of thing. "The second one is a wizard boy I gifted back in August. He's a few years younger'n you. Parents tried to keep him." Greyback laughed again. "They've since changed their minds. Third is a girl from about a year back. Witch – managed to fight me off-" Greyback actually sounded impressed. "-but not before I got her. No idea who or where she is."

_Good for her_, Matt thought, suppressing a grin. He flicked his wand and gave Greyback reddish hair and blue eyes. Greyback inspected a strand of his hair and nodded.

"Maybe she doesn't want to be found," Matt said boldly.

"She'll slip up eventually and then I'll find her and bring her back to the rest of her brothers and sisters. Now, walk with me."

"I have to-"

"_Walk_," Greyback said. Matt had the strangest urge to roll onto his back and submit – he always did, when Greyback used his 'alpha' voice. They left the alley together and Matt instinctively took the lead; after all of the searching, he could probably find his way around muggle London with his eyes closed. "That's them," Greyback said, nodding at a couple sitting at a bus stop across the road. It was hard to tell their heights when they were sitting, but both were solidly built and dark haired. "Followed me here. Trying to find the camps but they can't."

_Of course they can't, _Matt thought, unsurprised. No werewolf loyal to Greyback – which was most of them – would ever give him up, and those that were neutral had more to gain by keeping him around. At the very least, they would always have a home, and food and company. Those that hated Greyback – like Matt and Remus and Debbie did – _could_ tell, but wouldn't, because they would be guilty by association, or charged for assisting Greyback's numerous and appalling crimes. They'd also be dooming the others.

Remus had told Matt once, a few years back when Matt had considered going forward, that it wasn't worth it. Matt trusted Remus' judgement and so did his parents, and so they'd stayed quiet, whilst doing what they could to stop Greyback biting people; they'd had some success, too, or had been having, with only one or two victims a year.

This year, there'd already been triple that – and probably more Matt hadn't heard about; he only found out through Remus, who only found out when a victim was brought to St Mungo's and wanted to talk to someone. Surprisingly few people did.

"You know where you're going?" Greyback asked, slinging an arm around Matt's shoulders; the Aurors had glanced their way.

"Yes," Matt said irritably; he'd have to burn this jumper when he got home, and it was one of his favourites. "The Leaky Cauldron's just here."

"Good boy," Greyback said.

"Are you going straight back to the camp?" Matt asked. The look Greyback gave him was amused.

"Depends," he said.

"On?" Matt hedged.

"Well, I might get lost..."

Matt growled. The full moon wasn't for another week and a half but Greyback was still capable of doing damage when he was in his human form. He'd never bitten anyone in his human form – that Matt knew of anyway – but he had kidnapped people and saved them for the full moon – either to feed to people at the camps, or to bite – or simply beaten them, to prove that he could.

"Just go back to the camp," Matt said. "Consider it a favour to me, for getting you past them." He jerked his head in the direction of the bus stop and took the opportunity to shrug Greyback's arm off at the same time.

"Favour?" Greyback growled. "I don't owe you anything! I _created _you!"

"Yeah, thanks," Matt said sarcastically, forgetting for a moment who he was with.

"Where's your respect?" Greyback demanded, seizing him by the neck. It wasn't an unusual gesture; it was a sign of dominance that he often used at the camp. "Without me-"

"Without _me_, _you're_ not going to be able to get rid of them," Matt said, cutting him off. "So let me go and I'll walk you to the pub and you can Floo home."

He wasn't sure what he'd done wrong – well, all right, he was, but he wasn't sure whether it was the words or his tone that had made Greyback angrier – but Greyback's hand tightened and all of a sudden, Matt couldn't breathe. He pulled at one of Greyback's fingers and had the satisfaction of hearing it snap and Greyback make a small, pained noise. Spots danced in front of Matt's eyes as he pulled on another finger, but there was no way he was going to be able to break them all before he passed out.

"You'd do well to remember that Lupin isn't your leader; _I _am, and I won't be treated without the proper respect."

"Please," Matt choked. "Sir, I-" Greyback laughed, and it occurred to Matt that he was about to die.

"Oh, you're sorry now, I'm sure," Greyback said, squeezing a little more tightly. Something – likely Greyback's fist – hit Matt hard in the cheek. "Not sorry enough, though, I don't think."

Matt fought the blackness - he really did – and lost.

* * *

"Remus! Remus, wake up!"

Remus groaned and opened one eye. His bedroom was much brighter than it should have been at – he consulted his watch, which was on his bedside table – two-forty in the morning. He closed his eye again and buried his face in his pillow.

"What are you doing in my bedroom?" he asked. The irony did not escape him; it was the same question she'd asked... two days ago, now, when she'd fallen asleep during lunch.

"Get up!" Nymphadora said, shaking his shoulder. "Remus, please... Mad-Eye did what he could-" Something was wrong with her voice. It was shaky, and she smelled... upset.

Alarmed, he rolled over and propped himself up on one elbow. He squinted at her face, which was blurry but quickly came into focus. Her hair was straggly and a dull brown, so dark it was almost black. Her eyes were a blue-grey colour, swimming with tears and her face was ghostly pale.

"What's wrong?" he asked, throwing his legs over the side of the bed. _Surely they haven't caught Sirius... Maybe something happened to Mad-Eye, or Andy or Ted..._

"M-Matt-" Nymphadora choked. It was the last name Remus had expected to hear.

_No. No, no, no... _Remus snatched his wand up and was halfway to his bedroom door when Nymphadora spoke.

"He's alive," she said. Remus stopped and closed his eyes, thankful beyond words that she'd started with that. He felt like crying with relief but he didn't. He just looked at her expectantly. She got the hint. "Mad-Eye took him to St Mungo's, but.. his family- I thought- Mad-Eye said you-"

"I need to change," Remus said, letting instinct take over; he hadn't had a wake-up like this since his Order days but the old patterns were still there. He called on them now, as she she hurried out of the room to wait in the hallway. Remus forced himself to get dressed. "What happened, N- Dora?" There was a little sob on the other side of the door.

"We were tracking someone. A werewolf called Greyback. He's been in the papers."

"I know Greyback," Remus said flatly.

"He'd- Oh!" She hiccoughed and jumped back a step as Remus emerged. Apparently, he'd startled her into crying.

_Damn it._ Remus had always been terrible around crying people. Even when Harry had cried as a baby – admittedly, not often – it had made him uncomfortable, and he'd passed him off to Lily, James or Sirius; Peter had made him cry more, usually.

"Hey," he said awkwardly, patting her shoulder. "It's... er... okay." She let out another loud sob and flung her arms around his neck. Remus froze and then managed to pat her back again. "It's okay," he said again, because he didn't know what else to say; he could give advice in any situation, except when there were tears involved.

"He almost died!" she said. "They were just walking... Greyback must have threatened him or something – that's why we didn't interfere straight away, because Matt seemed safe and we didn't want him hurt because of us - but then he just attacked him! Mad-Eye handled the muggles who were watching and I hexed Greyback-"

"Good," Remus said darkly. Nymphadora looked up and gave him a watery, half-hearted smile. "What with?"

"_Diffindo_," she said, wiping her eyes on the back of her hand. "It cut along his knuckles and he let go and ran away." She pulled back, dabbing at her cheeks with her sleeve. "I'm sorry... it was all so awful... and I'm so tired." Personally, he was just relieved she'd stopped crying.

"Come on," Remus said, steering her down the hall. He forced her into the armchair and left her there, while he put the kettle on. While it boiled, he wrote a letter to Robin and Cornelius, explaining what had happened and that he'd meet them at St Mungo's. Nymphadora poured herself tea and had finished it by the time he sent the letter off with Strix. She'd calmed down considerably and seemed embarrassed about her little break-down.

He led her out into the garden and Apparated them both to an alley close to the entrance to St Mungo's. Nymphadora led him to Matt's ward – ridiculously enough, he was in the _Creature Induced Injuries_ ward on the first floor – where they found a grim Mad-Eye and a cheerful Matt. Mad-Eye nodded to him and led Nymphadora out, leaving Remus and Matt alone.

Tears stung Remus' eyes – though Matt was grinning, he was pale and looked fragile in his hospital pyjamas. It reminded Remus of the first time he'd met him; Matt had only been eleven, then, and recently bitten. Remus stumbled over to hug him. Matt hugged him back and - though he was now in hospital pyjamas - Remus could still smell Greyback on him.

"Are you all right?" he asked, pulling over the chair Mad-Eye had vacated.

"Never better," Matt croaked, grinning. "Did you see that Auror's eye?" His good mood was almost too much for Remus to take.

"N- The Auror said you almost _died_," Remus said thickly. "How-_Why_ are you smiling?"

"Cheering Charms," Matt said brightly. "Forced onto me, I'm afraid." He grinned. "It's bloody terrible." Remus had to laugh.

"How do you really feel?"

"Happy," Matt said, still wearing an enormous smile. "Without the charms, I think I'd feel... murderous, actually... but I can't be sure. I just feel like smiling. It's awful."

"_Finite_," Remus said, taking pity on him.

"Thank Godric," Matt said, losing the smile immediately. "My bloody face was starting to hurt." He was quiet for a moment and then, "Yep, pretty damn murderous." Remus chuckled again. "I'm going to tear Greyback to shreds the next time I see him... bloody _bastard_- Did they tell you what happened?" He almost sounded drunk, but that was probably the Painkilling potions; they tended to make people loopy.

"He attacked you," Remus said. He was beginning to wonder if taking the Cheering Charms off had been such a good idea after all.

"He came up to me, asked me for _my_ help and then, I asked one tiny little favour-"

"Which was?"

"That he goes straight back to the camp and doesn't stop to attack anyone on his way home. And-" Matt's voice died. He cleared his throat and had a drink from the cup on his bedside table. "And then, the son of a bludger grabs me by the throat like I'm a rabbit or something! I mean, I was _helping_ him. Not willingly, but I wasn't rude about it. Well, fine, maybe a bit, but that's not reason for him to try to bloody kill me!" Matt shook his head. "Merlin, I hate wizarding medicine. I can't feel my neck... do you know how odd that is? It's like I'm two people..."

"What were you doing out in the first place?" Remus asked patiently.

"There was this girl," Matt said, grimacing. Remus arched an eyebrow. "We got talking when I was laughing at Theodora the other day and agreed to meet up again."

"And?" Remus asked. Matt wrinkled his nose.

"And she's working in the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures because she strongly believes that magical creatures are inferior in every way and need to be put back in their place."

"Sounds like a lovely girl," Remus sighed, clapping Matt on the shoulder. Matt snorted.

"Yep, one of a kind."

"And not your kind."

"Nope." Matt flopped back into his pillows. They were both quiet and then Matt said, "So. January and February are going to be fun."

"You're not still going to go?" Remus asked, stunned.

"Of course I am. You and Deb-" Matt's scent, which Remus hadn't really been monitoring until that point, turned panicky all of a sudden. It was so strong it made him sneeze. "Is Deb all right?"

"Debbie?" Remus asked, conjuring a handkerchief. "I assume so." He wiped his nose and Vanished it. "Why?"

"That's where he'd been," Matt said, lowering his voice. "Visiting our 'siblings'. I think one of them was Deb. He said she was your pet- What if-?"

"Are you all right here?" Remus asked, standing. Matt nodded emphatically. "I owled your parents-"

Matt's lip trembled and very quietly, said, "Thanks."

"-they'll be here soon, I think. I'll owl you when I know about Debbie, and I'll come back to see you tomorrow, all right?"

"All right," Matt said. "Hey, Remus?"

"Yes?"

"Thanks for coming," Matt said sincerely. He was smiling, but it wasn't his usual cheeky smile. Remus hadn't seen it since he'd told Matt he'd be teaching him how to use magic.

"There's no need to thank me," Remus said.

"I woke you up."

"Actually, an Auror did that." Matt opened his mouth again but Remus cut him off, gently. "You're welcome." Matt's usual grin was back. Remus ducked out of the room. The hallway was empty – he supposed it _was_ three in the morning – but he found Mad-Eye and Nymphadora waiting in an adjacent hallway. Nymphadora smelled like tears again but looked composed. He wondered if she was using her Metamorphmagus abilities to hide it.

"Thank you," Remus said to both of them.

"Don't mention it," Mad-Eye said gruffly. "Seems like a good kid."

"He is." Remus hesitated and then said, "Would you mind waiting with him until his parents arrive? Just in case?"

Mad-Eye shook his head. "No, I don't mind. Nymphadora, could you get me a cup of tea?"

"Don't call me that!" she snapped. Her hair turned a bright red – brighter than Remus had ever seen it go – and then, less than a second later, turned pink. "Sorry!" she said looking mortified. "I'll just- Sorry!" She gave Mad-Eye an apologetic look, but he didn't seem to mind. "I''l see you on Saturday, Remus," she said, and then hurried off to find the elevator.

"Stressed," Mad-Eye said to no one in particular. Remus nodded. "I haven't asked you so far," Mad-Eye said, "but after this... I need to know anything you know about Greyback. Where's he living? How does he choose his victims?"

"I know a lot about Greyback," Remus said. "And I'll be happy to tell you anything you'd like to know about his history, but not toni- this morning. His victims are random. Muggle or magical doesn't matter and neither does gender. He tries to bite them young so he can raise them away from their families, but he's also been known to bite older people."

"And where's he living?"

"I won't tell you that." Mad-Eye frowned at him but Remus didn't apologise. "I know you don't discriminate," he said. "But could you say the same for your colleagues? The camp is far enough from populated areas that the werewolves living there don't pose a threat to people on full moons unless they deliberately position themselves. They're safer, and you're safer, if they stay where they are." Mad-Eye's mouth was set in a grim line but he nodded.

"And Greyback? You couldn't give us him?"

"I'd love to, but I can't," Remus said. "Not after tonight. He'd assume it was Matt-"

"We can protect him."

"Not well enough," Remus said bluntly. "Let this die down, and then I'll see what I can do. Until then, I think it's best for you to back off a little. The more you push, the more unpredictable and dangerous Greyback will get."

"So we do nothing?"

"You wait," Remus said. Mad-Eye gave him a considering look. "I've really got to go," Remus said. "There's something Matt's asked me to check for him." Mad-Eye looked like he wanted to ask, but restrained himself. "If I could offer you one more bit of advice...?"

"Go ahead," Mad-Eye grumbled.

"Don't let Nymphadora back in that room if you don't want her role as Tock compromised." It was only a matter of time before someone looked Matt's medical records up and found out about his last hospitalisation – eight years ago, after being bitten – and Mad-Eye would be discrete, while making use of the information. He nodded once, to show he'd understood and then Remus left.

He'd check on Debbie – he hoped, fervently, that she was all right – and then, with a bit of luck, still have time to go back to bed for a few hours.


	31. Life After Death

"Matt made it home, then?" Sirius asked, as Remus Flooed into the kitchen midway through dinner. Kreacher handed him a loaded plate, which Remus took gratefully and sat down in the seat opposite Harry, who was listening intently.

"No problems," Remus said, accepting a drink from Kreacher. "Debbie's spending the night there just in case but no one's seen or heard anything of Greyback since the attack."

That had been a week ago; Sirius had been up early - something he hadn't done regularly since before Azkaban - when Remus stumbled out of the fireplace and startled Sirius into spilling his tea. Remus had launched into a long, complicated and only semi-coherent explanation of the previous night's events. They hadn't seen much of him since, because he'd been with the search during the days, and at Matt's bedside in St Mungo's until late at night.

"Well, where Greyback's concerned, no news is good news," Sirius said. He gestured to Kreacher to bring him a second helping, which Harry had already started on.

"I certainly hope so," Remus agreed.

"Is Debbie still mad?"

"Furious," Remus said, with a slight smile. "He had the nerve to invite himself into my own home and try to tell me what to do and then he goes and nearly kills Matthew!" he said in a poor imitation of a woman's shrill, angry voice. "Honestly, I thought he wanted to convince me to join, him, not turn me against him!"

"You're terrible at voices," Sirius said, smirking. Remus poked his tongue out, causing Kreacher to tut. Remus gave him an apologetic look and Sirius' smirk widened.

Dinner was a quiet affair; Harry and Sirius had finally given in and spent the past few days rearranging the library, so there wasn't much to talk about. Sirius had even – after being caught up in one of his fussy moods – conjured little labels for the shelves. After the intensive research required to help him cast his mental Patronus, and the days spent stacking, sorting and re-shelving books, Sirius would be quite happy to not touch another book for quite some time.

Harry's lessons, therefore, consisted of brewing and spellwork, which Sirius thought suited him just fine; Harry did a lot better with practical work than he did with theory. They'd duelled a little bit today, using only the spells he'd been taught so far. Harry had lost spectacularly, but his reflexes were impressive and so was his ability to think on his feet. He'd be good with practice, Sirius was sure of it.

By the time Kreacher brought out pudding – chocolate mousse, which Sirius declined – they'd told Remus all of this, and he, in turn, had filled them in on the happenings in the search. There was very little to report, Sirius was pleased to note.

"I've managed to get tomorrow afternoon off," Remus said.

"Are we still going, then?" Harry asked, pausing with his spoon halfway to his mouth.

"Do you still want to?" Sirius asked. Harry nodded emphatically and Sirius grinned and reached over to ruffle his hair. "Then we'll go." Harry smiled.

"He's in serious danger of being spoiled rotten," Remus commented, much later that night, when Harry had gone to bed.

"In s_erious_ danger, is he, Moony?" Sirius asked slyly and then shook his head. "Nah, he's not." Sirius' eyes narrowed and he felt a surge of loathing. "His aunt and uncle saw to that. I couldn't spoil Harry if I tried."

"And you _are_ trying," Remus said, grinning.

"Am not! We don't get out enough for me to buy him much and when we do, he insists on paying with his own pocket money." Sirius shook his head. "We went out for ice cream the other day and _he_ paid for _my_ cone!" Remus chuckled. "Trust me, it's not actually _possible_ to spoil him."

"I didn't say spoiling him was a bad thing," Remus said.

"You made it sound that way," Sirius told him. Remus grinned. "Speaking of spoiling..."

"What?" Remus asked in a tone that Sirius knew came from years of experience of dealing with Sirius when he had an idea.

"Can we have Christmas at your house?"

"At my-?" Remus looked stunned. "Why? Neither of us can cook without magic and it wouldn't be fair to ask Harry to do it again." He'd had to cook most of their meals while he and Sirius were staying there after the incident with Marlene in September.

"We can eat here," Sirius said immediately. "Kreacher wants to do the cooking anyway, I think, but maybe we could spend the afternoon at your place?"

"Why?" Remus asked. "What do I have that you don't have here? This place is huge!"

"Is that a no?" Sirius asked.

"No," Remus grumbled. "I just don't understand."

"So it's a yes?"

"Yes," Remus sighed.

"Brilliant," Sirius said happily.

"Are you going to explain now?" Remus asked, when he didn't say anything more on the matter.

"Nope," Sirius said, grinning. "I'm being mysterious."

"You're being annoying," Remus muttered.

"Mysterious," Sirius argued.

"Annoy- Urgh, never mind," Remus sighed, leaning forward to hit his forehead against the wood of the kitchen table. Sirius glanced at him and sniggered. "How are we getting there tomorrow?" Remus asked, his face still pressed against the table.

"Portkey, maybe?" Remus looked up. "I haven't really thought about it."

"Fine for the way there, but wouldn't that set off the Trace on the way home?"

"Damn it!" Sirius muttered. "Whose idea was that stupid tracking spell anyway? I'd like to give them-"

"A talking to?" Remus suggested.

"No, a good hard kick in the-"

"Padfoot!" Remus said, looking appalled.

"What? Harry's not here to be corrupted, so I figure it's fine." Remus chuckled and shook his head. "Do _you_have any suggestions for travel?"

"Knight bus?"

"In costumes?" Sirius asked skeptically. He knew the Knight Bus had odd customers but costumes was pushing it. If nothing else, people would remember them.

"Forget I mentioned that one," Remus muttered. He was wearing an odd expression and Sirius would have bet a substantial amount of gold that Remus was imagining himself on the Knight Bus, in a costume. They were both silent for several minutes. "We could Floo," Remus suggested reluctantly.

_Portkey, no. Apparition, no. Knight Bus, no. Brooms, no – even if we had brooms, Harry's never flown before. Muggle transport, no – it'd take too long. Flooing... could work,_ Sirius was forced to concede.

"Damn," he muttered.

"Damn indeed," Remus said, massaging his temples. "But what choice do we have?"

* * *

Never once did he look at the statue as he walked through the village. He saw it change out of the corner of his eye but didn't look back, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the church and the graveyard beyond.

He approached the graves silently. It was a cold morning, so there was no one around. That was good. Some people might react oddly if they saw him there.

He didn't kneel. He hadn't, not once, in all the years he'd been coming here. He just stood and read the inscriptions on the headstone. This was more a habit than anything, since he knew every word on them, now.

He didn't allow himself to think of the people that lay beneath the ground. Not their faces, not their voices. Not any of the memories he had of either of them.

"It-" His voice caught. Not out of grief or anything like that, but merely because he hadn't spoken in a long time. He cleared his throat and tried again. "It was nothing personal."

That was all he ever said while he was here. He didn't apologise – why should he? He didn't have anything to apologise for. He didn't try to explain, either. There wasn't any point to that. But, somehow, it seemed important that they knew it wasn't personal.

It hadn't been. It had been survival, nothing more, nothing less. And he was good at surviving.

He nodded once at the graves and then turned and walked away, out of the graveyard. He needed to get back before he was missed. Not once did he so much as glance at the statue on the way to his Apparition point.

* * *

The statue made him cry every time he saw it and this time was no different.

_So young..._ Theyd been so young when they'd died. It wasn't fair. Lily and James had been good people. The best people. And Harry... poor, little Harry, had been sent to live with muggles. And he'd have stayed there, too, if Sirius hadn't come for him. Poor, poor Harry. He pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at his eyes on his way to the graveyard.

He walked carefully between the rows and, when he arrived at the familiar one, bent down. He pulled a bunch of flowers out of his coat pocket and arranged them on the bare grave.

He'd been given the morning off to collect the flowers and the afternoon off to bring them here. They were nice flowers. Nice flowers for nice people.

He found himself needing his handkerchief again.

* * *

He paused in the village square to give the war memorial time to change. When it had, he edged forward, slowly, to rest his hand on a smaller, cold, stone hand. He stood there in silence for a long time – probably too long, but no one was paying him any attention anyway.

Eventually, he pulled away and continued toward the church. He strode toward the kissing gate, not paying even the slightest bit of attention to any of the costumed muggles. They would assume he, too, was in costume, and ignore him in turn. If they did glance his way, it would be to try to work out what he was dressed as. They could form whatever conclusions they liked. He didn't care. He had other things on his mind today.

He pushed the kissing gate open and continued along a familiar route. A bright bunch of flowers already rested there and he felt the slightest smile creep onto his face.

He knelt to the right of the headstone and bowed his head, murmuring things – apologies, mostly, but also promises and every now and then, a curse, but those had no real force behind them. He conjured a flower which he lay down to the right of the others and then moved to the left side of the grave. He murmured a few more words – there were no apologies or promises this time, _only_ curses – and then stood and made his way out.

His fingers brushed stone fingers again, before he left for good.

* * *

She paused by the statue and looked at it. She'd never been able to do that before. It was nice, in a sad way. She stared into the stone eyes of the statues and whispered an apology, and then a promise.

She repeated the same words to the grave, which felt more binding - since that was where they were buried - but less personal, since she didn't have to hold eye contact with something that couldn't blink.

She conjured a bunch of lilies to add to the flowers that already covered the grave and lay them just to the left, since there was already a flower –separate from the others – on the right.

She began to talk about her life – where she was living, who her friends were, where she was working – just in case they could somehow hear her. She'd want news too, or death would be frightfully boring.

"I'll get him," she murmured, arranging the leaves of one of her flowers. When it looked the way she wanted it to, she stood and brushed dirt off of her jeans.

As she walked back past the statue, back in the village square, she stopped again and cupped a tiny, chubby, stone cheek in her hand. She rested her other hand on the place where two hands – one of which was smaller than hers, the other slightly bigger – met. "I promise... and... I miss you."

Unsurprisingly, there was no answer. She wiped her eyes – which were suspiciously damp – on the back of her glove and left.

* * *

A man and a woman approached the grave and smiled sadly at the flowers resting there, and then at each other. The woman transfigured a stick that was lying nearby into three lilies. There were already quite a few of those; a few pale pale pink lilies with spotted throats and a single white one. None were a bright orange-yellow with red throats, like hers.

The woman set them down and bowed her head, thinking of the people that lay beneath the stone. Beside her, the man murmured a string of apologies and conjured a cluster of purple hyacinths. He knelt and placed them beside hers but didn't stand for several minutes. He ran his hand over the names cut into the marble, and the words along the bottom of the headstone before he stood slowly.

She didn't comment on his tears, nor he on hers. She simply inclined her head to tell him she was ready to go and strode over to visit the statue near the kissing gate. The man made his way there too, but took a different route, one that bypassed two other graves. He conjured flowers for them too – the same purple hyacinths – murmured more apologies and then joined the woman outside the graveyard, by the statue.

He offered her his arm and they left together.

* * *

"Here," Padfoot said, holding out a hand. "Let me do that."

"Thanks," Harry mumbled, passing his tie over. Padfoot untangled it, wrapped it around his own neck and, with all of the ease of experience, tied it, took it off, and passed it back.

Harry secured it around his neck and then pulled on the dark cloak he'd been given to wear; it had belonged to Regulus when he was a bit younger than Harry – who was still short for his age – and Padfoot had given it a higher collar for tonight's purposes, and also charmed the inside to be the same red as the tie. Harry was also wearing a pair of Regulus' old dinner clothes; a white ruffled shirt, a black and silver waistcoat and a set of black trousers.

"Smile," Padfoot told him, pulling out his wand. Harry found he couldn't, so he bared his teeth instead. Padfoot muttered something and Harry felt an odd tingling in his mouth. "Just watch your tongue and lips," Padfoot said. Harry used his tongue to trace his newly-sharpened canines.

"They're sharp," he said, testing the words out. His teeth didn't really change the way he spoke, though they would catch on his lip if he wasn't careful. Still, if he had blood on his mouth, he'd look even more vampirish...

"They're supposed to be." Moony, like Harry, was wearing a set of old dinner clothes, though his had belonged to his Padfoot's dad. Moony had made them a little baggier, conjured himself a heavy leather coat and also a hat and eyepatch. He'd also used the charm that Padfoot had once jokingly threatened Harry with to give himself a beard, and had done something to make his hair longer. It rested just below his ears, now, which Harry was used to seeing on Padfoot, but thought looked strange on Moony.

Padfoot was dressed as a werewolf, since Moony had refused to do it himself. He'd cast a charm to put an illusion of a scar on his face and was wearing a shredded shirt that showed off the real scar on his neck and a pair of scruffy jeans. He'd done a partial transformation – like he had when Snape visited – to give himself pointy teeth and hairy hands and feet. He'd used his wand to make his fingernails grow and to make his ears pointed, which had amused Moony.

"Werewolves do believe in personal hygiene, you know," Moony said, glancing at the fingernails. "You could take someone's eye out with those."

"Now that could be fun..." Padfoot said, grinning scarily; his teeth were quite disconcerting. Harry felt a momentary stab of pity for Snape, but it vanished quickly. Moony secured a pouch to his belt; inside, was enough Floo Powder to get the three of them home again.

"Let's go, then," Padfoot said, leading the way down to the kitchen. He patted the back pocket of his jeans, where his mirror was. "I'll go through first and tell you when it's safe to follow." Harry held James' – well, it was his now – mirror up.

"Be careful," Moony warned.

"When am I ever not?" Padfoot said, scooping up a handful of Floo Powder from the box on the mantel.

"Well," Harry and Moony said simultaneously, "there was-"

"Potter Cottage," Padfoot said. He stuck his tongue out at them as he was swallowed by the flames.

"Which time were you going to mention?" Moony asked, with a wry smile.

"Dunno," Harry said sheepishly. "Probably the time-"

"Kiddo? Moony?" Padfoot's face appeared in the mirror. Behind him was a wall covered in peeling, creamy yellow wallpaper.

"We're here," Harry said, positioning the mirror so that Padfoot would be able to see both him and Moony.

"Everything's fine here. Count to ten and come through." The mirror went blank. Harry tucked his into a pocket on the inside of his cloak and then stepped forward to grab a handful of Floo Powder. He used his other hand to tuck his glasses into the pocket of his trousers, where his wand was.

He tossed the Floo Powder into the fire, smiled at Moony, and then said, "Potter Cottage!" He was tugged away by the fire – he remembered to keep his elbows tucked against his side, but they got bumped anyway. The fire spat him out and he tripped on the hearth and would have landed face first on the carpet if Padfoot hadn't predicted that and darted forward to catch him.

"Thanks," he said, rubbing ash off his face. He pulled his glasses out and pushed them back into their usual place. The room came into focus. The walls were those he'd seen through the mirror, and the carpet was as dusty as Grimmauld's had been when they first moved in.

To his right were three dusty armchairs and a couch – wide enough for two, maybe three people – behind which was a large window that looked out on an overgrown front garden. To his left was a door, through which he could see a kitchen and a dining table and straight across from him, on the other side of the sitting room was an empty bookcase – it was likely that the books had all gone into Moony's box - and another armchair. To the right of those was an archway which led into a hallway.

"Out of the way, kiddo," Padfoot said, steering Harry away from the fire as Moony stepped out of it. His exit was far more dignified than Harry's had been. Harry shook Padfoot loose – gently – and walked out of the sitting room and into the hallway, where he was immediately met by the side of a small staircase.

The stairs took up most of the hall-space, but there was a pram pushed up against the wall to the left of the front door. Harry walked around to the front of the staircase and looked up. It was very quiet upstairs.

_No surprises there, _he thought wryly.

Harry glanced back the way he'd come. There were five doors coming off of the hall; the first led into the sitting room where he could hear Padfoot and Moony talking quietly. The second was the front door and the third was to the cupboard under the stairs. The fourth led into the kitchen, which he'd already had a peek at from the sitting room and the fifth looked like it led to a bathroom; he could see a dusty floor and tiled walls.

With one last, cautious glance over his shoulder, Harry gripped the banister and made his way up the stairs. He was careful to test every step before he trusted it with his weight – slight as that was – because they probably hadn't been used in eight years.

Up the top was a landing with three doors coming off it. The far left door was open and showed what Harry thought must have been his parents' bedroom. The middle room had two, large bunk-beds squeezed into it. On the right, closest to the stairs, was a closed door; the only closed door in the cottage.

_I wonder why they've closed it_, he thought, brushing dust off the doorknob. He felt a stab of guilt for being curious about what was behind it, and then shook himself. _This is- was_ _my home. If anyone has a right to look inside, it's me._.. Harry twisted the knob and pushed the door open. Cold air blew into his face.

"...thought he was in the bathroom," he heard Padfoot say from downstairs, and then, more loudly, "Harry?"

It very dark inside, but his eyes adjusted quickly and Harry found himself frozen in the doorway staring at the destroyed nursery. There was a crib in the back, right corner, its sides bowed as if something had exploded inside of it. The roof was missing in places – pieces of rubble still littered the worn, mouldy carpet but Harry got the impression that most if it had been cleaned up. The walls adjacent to the crib were in a similarly ruined state and that was where the cold night air was coming in.

Boxes and a comfortable looking chair had been shoved to one side of the door, and toys and children's books from a ruined shelf above the crib had been placed wherever there was room for them. A tiny broomstick which was snapped half had been shoved under the crib, and a mobile – with little wooden Quidditch players – lay inside the crib, in several pieces.

There were noisy footsteps behind Harry, who started and whipped around. It was Padfoot, with Moony just behind him. Padfoot looked from Harry to the nursery and the colour drained from his face.

Harry found himself wrapped in a tight hug – a hug which just so happened to steer him out of the doorway and enable Moony to close the door again. Harry was grateful. He'd had no desire to stand there any longer, but hadn't been able to tear his eyes away, or get his legs to move.

_How in Godric's name did I live through _that?

"You don't need to see that," Padfoot said gently, but firmly.

"That- that was my room, wasn't it?" Harry said, when he'd found his voice. He still hadn't let go of Padfoot, though; he didn't think he could, yet. Hearing Padfoot tell the story was one thing. Seeing the room – the room_he'd _blow apart when he'd destroyed Voldemort – and the relics of his old life, the life he'd never had the chance to live, was another thing altogether. And, until he'd calmed down, Padfoot was a safe thing to hold on to. "That's where Voldemort tried to k-kill me." Harry felt Padfoot's upper body twist, as if he'd turned to look at Moony.

"Yes," Padfoot said in a very muted voice, and shifted again. "Are you still all right to go to the graveyard?"

"Yeah," Harry said, releasing Padfoot a little. When he was certain his legs would hold him, he released Padfoot completely.

"Are you sure?" Moony asked. Harry noticed his nostrils were flaring slightly. Harry looked away from Moony but Padfoot was doing the same thing.

"I said I'm fine," Harry said. This time, he saw the look they exchanged – though Moony's was only half a look, with his eyepatch - and panic prickled inside his chest. "C'mon," he said, worried Padfoot might send him home.

"I know you're lying, you know," Padfoot said, almost conversationally. Harry was reasonably sure his heart had taken up residence in his shoes, along with his feet. He considered lying about lying, but Padfoot would smell that. And, if he didn't, Moony would.

"I know," Harry muttered.

"As long as we're clear," Padfoot said and gestured for Harry to head downstairs. Harry didn't know whether to feel relieved that he was still allowed to go, or disappointed that he hadn't been sent home; if he'd reacted that strongly to his old nursery, how would he react to the place where his parents were buried? Moony seemed to know what he was thinking; he placed a hand on Harry's shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze.

In the hallway at the bottom of the stairs, Moony took his hand off Harry's shoulder and paused to dig through the pockets of his leather coat.

"Aha," he said, showing Harry and Padfoot a rusty house key. "I found my old set this morning," he explained, shoving it into the lock. He twisted it and the door groaned as it opened.

They filed out into the front garden while Moony locked the door again, just in case, and then carefully navigated through grass that was up to Harry's waist. They took the most direct route to the front fence, knowing they were likely to be noticed if they dawdled. Padfoot vaulted over first. Moony gave Harry a leg-up and Padfoot helped him down on the other side, while Moony jumped like Padfoot had.

From there, it was a simple matter of blending in with the other costumed muggles; Harry spotted a boy in a lion suit, a girl dressed like a rabbit and a man wearing a clown costume so colourful it was almost hard to look at.

"Look!" said a boy dressed like a ghost. His mother, who was a witch, peered into the bag he was holding. Moony's nose twitched.

"This way," he said, nudging Harry and Padfoot toward the house the boy had just walked away from.

"What did he get?" Harry asked curiously.

"Chocolate," Moony said.

"We have chocolate at home- Gah!" Padfoot jumped – making Harry jump - and pulled his wand out. The skeleton he'd brushed swang harmlessly in the breeze, its plastic bones clicking quietly. Moony chuckled and Padfoot put his wand back into his pocket.

"Bit twitchy are we, Padfoot?" Moony asked lightly, ringing the doorbell.

"I _am_ a wanted criminal," Padfoot muttered; there were footsteps inside. "And, in case you need reminding, my last few outings haven't ended terribly well."

"Hello!" a plump muggle woman said. Padfoot – who'd been looking rather grim – gave her a winning smile. Harry glanced at Moony, who was smiling too, and followed suit; he'd never dressed up for sweets on Halloween, so he wasn't quite sure how to go about it.

_You would have, if you'd grown up here_, a little voice whispered. Harry told it to shut up.

"Well, don't you three look dashing!" she said, beaming at them. She vanished inside for a moment and then returned with four Mars Bars; Harry and Moony got one each and the woman blushed before shoving two into Padfoot's hands and hurrying back inside. There was a breathless giggle on the other side of the door. Harry, Moony and Padfoot exchanged bemused looks – Padfoot actually looked quite pleased with himself – and retreated back to the street.

"Unbelievable," Moony said, as Padfoot gave each of them one of his chocolate bars; he still wasn't eating chocolate again after his Dementor's Draught ordeal. Harry, however, had no problems with chocolate and unwrapped one of his.

They stopped twice more because Padfoot wanted sweets that weren't chocolate. One of the houses was a muggle one, and they got a handful of boiled lollies each and the other house belonged to a woman dressed like a witch.

"Abra Kadabra!" she said, waving her wand. Padfoot and Moony flinched but recovered quickly. Harry stared at them, confused.

"Sorry," Moony said smoothly. "We thought you said something else."

"Something unforgivable," Padfoot said, watching her closely. The woman clapped a hand to her mouth and Padfoot nodded, as if to himself. Moony, likewise, seemed to know what was going on. Harry still had no idea. "Particularly in this village."

"Sweet Merlin!" she said. Harry realised she must be a real witch. "I'm so sorry! Most of my visitors are muggles and those that aren't don't know about- I thought you were muggles," she finished in a whisper. "Otherwise I would never have-"

"It's quite all right," Moony said calmly. "You just took us by surprise."

"Well, I imagine so!" She peered down at Harry. "I should have guessed... those fangs look a little too realistic to be those silly plastic teeth muggle children put in their mouths." Her eyes flicked to Padfoot and she cleared her throat nervously. "You- you're not really...?"

"A werewolf?" Padfoot asked. The woman leaned away from him and nodded. "No. I'm not." The smile she gave them was much friendlier.

"Just hold on," she said, and turned back into the house.

"Cow," Padfoot muttered.

"Padfoot!" Moony hissed.

"What's wrong with saying Abra-?" Harry started, but then the witch was back and he had the sense to stay quiet.

"Here," she said, giving them each a box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans. "Now-"

"Thanks for the sweets," Padfoot said abruptly. "Have a good night."

"Oh," she said, her face falling a bit. "Well, good night, then." She went inside and they trooped back down the path. Padfoot muttered insults under his breath as he tore his box of Bertie Bott's open. Harry couldn't actually hear what he was saying but his scowl was ferocious and every now and then Moony would look up, startled. Harry found himself wishing he had better hearing.

"_Padfoot_!" Moony said, glancing around to make sure no one had heard. "Aside from being rude, I'm reasonably sure that's anatomically impossible."

"Yes, but it's an interesting concept," Padfoot said darkly. "Honstly, who talks about that spell _here_? And asking if I was a werewolf before she brought us sweets! What would it matter? She-"

"What's wrong with Abra Kadabra?" Harry asked, when his curiosity smothered his amusement at Padfoot's indignant speech.

"It sounds like a real spell," Moony said.

"A very bad spell," Padfoot added. Harry didn't ask for any more details - both of their tones suggested that was a bad idea – and they didn't offer any.

Padfoot continued to mutter under his breath – this, at least, was conscious and not at all like the muttering he'd done under the influence of the Dementor's Draught. Moony, meanwhile, had opened his box of beans and was sniffing them. When he'd found and separated two blue ones – Harry'd never seen ones that colour before – he tossed them at Padfoot, who caught them in his mouth.

"Eurgh!" Padfoot spluttered, while Moony tucked the box back into his pocket. "Soap? You gave me _soap?_"

"Serves you right," Moony said. The corners of his mouth twitched and he winked at Harry. "Without magic, it was the next best thing." Padfoot smiled reluctantly. They rounded a corner and came into a town square. Its only real distinguishing feature was a war memorial, which costumed muggles walked around without really noticing. Harry supposed they saw it every day. "Ah," Moony said, staring at it. "Padfoot, I should warn you..."

"Warn me about what?" Padfoot asked.

"The war memorial," Moony said slowly. "It... changes." Padfoot gave it a curious look and strode forward. Harry made to follow but Moony's hand stopped him. "Just give him a moment," Moony said gently.

"What is it?" Harry asked, watching Padfoot, who'd just gone very still and had reached out to touch the obelisk, which - now that they were a bit closer - Harry could see was carved with names.

"You," Moony said, giving his shoulder a squeeze.

_Me...?_

"Moony, I- Oh." As they drew level with the war memorial, it changed into a statue of two- three people; he'd only just noticed the baby in the woman's arms. James was tall – roughly Padfoot's height, and maybe a tiny bit shorter than Moony – with hair as messy as Harry's was. And, as he looked at his father's face in person – stone, admittedly, but still – he could very well understand why people said they looked alike.

Unlike most of the photographs Harry had seen, James wasn't grinning. He was smiling, a gentle, contented smile and had one arm around Lily's shoulders and one of his hands resting on top of hers. Lily's face was almost as familiar to Harry as James' after sorting through the box of their old things; he had quite a few pictures with her in them in his bedroom.

Even with her hair and eyes coloured the grey of the stone they were carved into, she was still very pretty. Her smile, like James', was a little more subdued than Harry was used to, but no less happy. And she was smiling down at the messy-haired toddler in her arms.

Harry recognised himself immediately - he had a few of his baby photos now too – and felt his face fall. Here, even more so than in the photographs, he looked just like every other baby he'd ever seen – though with James' hair. Here, his statue-self was wearing the same contented smile as his parents. Here, he still had his parents, and – though they weren't part of the statue – he'd also had Padfoot and Moony.

_That Harry's gone, though. He died with Mum and Dad._

Harry hugged himself and glanced around to see what Moony and Padfoot were doing. Padfoot was staring at the statue with a sad sort of intensity and had one of his hands resting on the place where James and Lily's hands met, over statue-Harry's knee. With a jolt, it occurred to Harry that he was allowed to touch the statue and he tentatively reached out to do so. His mother's other hand – the one that was supporting statue-Harry's back and legs – was cold and smooth.

He curled his fingers over hers and reached for James' hand, which was resting on Lily's upper arm. All the while, statue-Harry smiled happily, mocking him.

"Kiddo?" Padfoot said softly. Harry jumped and let go. "Moony says the church-" He paused to clear his throat. "The church is this way." He held out one arm and Harry ducked under it and hugged Padfoot hard around the waist. "I know," Padfoot said, ruffling his hair. "I know."

"I hate him," Harry said into the side of Padfoot's shredded shirt. Tears pricked his eyes but refused to fall. Harry didn't know whether he meant Voldemort or Peter or even baby-Harry, for looking so stupidly happy.

All Padfoot said was, "I know."

* * *

"They're here," Remus said quietly. Sirius thought he would have noticed it without his help; it was a large, white marble headstone with James and Lily's names and dates. There were also what appeared to be several fields worth of flowers; there were some brightly coloured wildflowers, a cluster of pink lilies, some purplish flowers, a single white lily and a bunch of red and gold lilies.

"Minnie," Sirius croaked, drawing Remus' attention to the red and gold flowers.

"Probably," Remus said, and Sirius had to admire his composure; Remus had remained calm all night, while Sirius had been struggling to control his mood. He'd even got a bit teary at the sight of the statue, but didn't think either of the other two had noticed.

"Should we have brought flowers?" Harry asked in a slightly panicky voice. Sirius couldn't believe he'd forgotten.

Just as he himself was starting to panic, Remus said, "No. Look, they've got plenty there already." Sirius thought he was rather missing the point.

"Remus-!"

"Bring some next time," Remus said pointedly, his eyes flicking to Harry.

_Oh..._

"Yeah," Sirius said, trying to sound convincing. "You can be in charge of remembering that, kiddo." Harry - who seemed to have calmed down - nodded determinedly. Even if Harry forgot, Sirius wouldn't.

_They're going to be the best damn flowers anyone's ever had,_ he promised. Harry, meanwhile, had knelt down in front of the headstone, to read an inscription that had been hidden by the other tributes. _The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death_, Sirius read and then glanced up.

"You chose it?" he asked Remus, who was surreptitiously trying to wipe his eyes on his sleeve.

"Yes," Remus said, grimacing because he'd been caught.

"What does it mean?" Harry asked.

"It means that they embraced death," Remus answered after a pause. And they had; James had been found in the hallway, wandless, and Lily had been upstairs in front of Harry's crib. While no one but Voldemort or Harry had truly been there that night to see what had really happened, Sirius didn't think it took a genius to work out the rough order of the night's events. "That they were brave, that they defeated death by dying."

_Death was a friend for them, _Sirius thought, remembering one of the tales from his and Regulus' old storybook. He shook himself. _Well, not quite, but they weren't afraid... _A conversation from his and James' Auror exam drifted through his memory, one where James had seriously contemplated coming back as a ghost to watch over his son. _Of anything but abandoning Harry, that is._

_And he's not abandoned. He's got me and Moony now, Prongs, don't worry. _And then, the volume of Sirius' thoughts dropped, until it was almost a whisper._ And I know I can't replace you, or be what you would have been. But I can be there for him. I can take care of him, make sure he knows how brilliant you were. _Sirius swallowed.

_You bought him life, both of you. _He wiped his eyes, not because he was ashamed of his tears, but because he could no longer see and it was uncomfortable. _I'm going to make bloody sure that it's a life worth living. _Sirius' eyes flicked to Harry, who was still tracing Lily and James' names, and then back to the grave._ I _promise_ you._

"I promise," he heard Remus murmur. Sirius glanced over; Remus was watching the back of Harry's head and had tears running down his pale cheeks. Sirius was reasonably sure that he'd just promised something similar. On the ground, Harry had started to tremble and Sirius didn't think it was from the cold.

He knelt down at his godson's side and gripped his shoulder. As he had by the statue, Harry leaned closer and wrapped his arms around Sirius. Harry sniffled and for a moment, Sirius saw tears dribbling out of Lily's eyes, behind James' glasses. Then, Harry hid his face in Sirius' shirt, and unlike at the statue, or on the landing in James and Lily's cottage, he didn't seem inclined to let go.

"You ready?" Sirius asked Remus over his shoulder. Remus nodded, wiping his cheeks. Sirius adjusted Harry's arms around his neck and scooped him off the ground.

_It's not as easy as parents make it look,_ he thought, trying not to drop Harry as he stood up. Remus was hovering nearby, just in case, but his help wasn't necessary.

Sirius didn't think or whisper a goodbye; he spoke to James and Lily every night before he fell asleep. He'd probably talk to them again tonight. And maybe he was a little bit mad – everyone had always said so, after all – but sometimes, he'd swear they could hear him, and that they were talking back, somewhere he couldn't hear them.

Remus slung an arm over his shoulders – careful not to knock Harry, who Sirius thought might actually have fallen asleep – and they made their way toward the kissing gate.

A gust of wind – and a warm one at that, considering it was October – blew gently against their faces and Harry shifted slightly, his head lolling back into Sirius' shoulder. His tears had not yet dried on his face but he wore a slight smile, which widened as a second gust of wind ruffled his dark hair.


	32. A Forgotten Favour

November's full moon fell on the tenth, which was Padfoot's birthday. Padfoot hadn't mentioned his birthday at all – Moony later wondered aloud to Harry that he didn't want to turn thirty – but Moony had remembered it and so had Kreacher, who'd been the one to tell Harry.

Harry and Moony had arranged a trip to Diagon Alley a few days before, telling Padfoot that Moony was going to give Harry a grammar and spelling lesson at his cottage; that was something Padfoot was quite happy not to have any part in if Moony was willing to do it. Harry had had to have his appearance changed at Grimmauld however, because of the Trace, and then sneak out, all without Padfoot noticing. In the end, they'd had Kreacher set Mrs Black's portrait off which distracted Padfoot while Harry and Moony left.

Diagon Alley was reasonably uneventful. With Christmas next month, it had been busy and so they'd been able to blend in easily. Moony'd spotted two of Lucius Malfoy's searchers; one they had avoided entirely, and the other Moony had gone up to say hello to, introducing Harry as his nephew.

They'd chosen a few books, quite a few sweets – though not any chocolate – and then Harry had reluctantly picked out a few pranking items, knowing full well that he'd probably be the victim they were used on. They'd also ventured out into muggle London so Moony could peruse a pet shop.

"Keeping tradition alive," Moony murmured as they made their way to the counter, carrying a box of dog biscuits – Harry had chosen those - a squeaky red ball and a jumper made to fit a dog. Harry had let Moony pay for those, since he had no muggle money, but had insisted on helping to pay for the things they bought in Diagon Alley.

They'd gone back to Moony's by Floo, wrapped and hidden everything, and then – to Harry's horror – he really had been subjected to a grammar and spelling lesson.

On the day of Padfoot's birthday, Harry had helped Kreacher organise breakfast in bed and then Moony came over at lunchtime with the presents. For all that Padfoot had been secretive about his birthday, he'd been unbelievably excited to learn they'd bought him presents; Harry thought he'd torn the wrapping paper off with more enthusiasm than even Dudley had ever managed.

Padfoot was pleased with the sweets and the books; one was an updated copy of _Quidditch Through The Ages_(since Padfoot was a little behind on the league after Azkaban) and the others were _Producing Plants: An Advanced Guide _(which Moony thought Padfoot would enjoy, though Harry couldn't work out why) and _Mind Games: Occlumency And Legillimency_. Padfoot spent several minutes assessing each pranking item and was unnervingly quiet as he did so; Harry just _knew_ he was planning something.

The dog-jumper and ball were received in good humour – Padfoot chuckled and transformed to try both out – but paused when he reached the biscuits.

"You got-" he said, looking at Moony.

"Harry picked those, actually," Moony told him.

"You're kidding," Padfoot said, staring between them, the box still clenched tightly in one hand.

"I'm serious," Moony told him. "Why?"

"_I'm _Sirius," Padfoot said and then hefted the box. "These are the ones Prongs always bought."

"You're kidding," Moony said.

"I'm Sirius," Padfoot said, winking. His expression changed remarkably quickly, from joking to sincere. "Thank you," he said. "I didn't think I'd get another box of these."

"It's all right," Harry muttered, a little embarrassed that the present he'd chosen as a joke had turned out to have such a great sentimental value. Padfoot set the box down with the others and Harry made sure to remember the name so that he could get Padfoot another lot for Christmas.

Kreacher made them an early dinner – since Moony needed to get home before he started to transform – and afterward he brought out the vanilla cake he and Harry had spent the morning making. They sang happy birthday and gulped down a slice of cake each; Padfoot also had a few dog biscuits and coerced Harry into trying one. They were surprisingly tolerable, but Moony refused outright and got rather snappy when Padfoot tried to press the point.

When both Moony and Padfoot were gone, and Kreacher was downstairs cleaning the kitchen, Harry found himself alone and bored; his first full moon had been eventful – due to his kidnapping by Snape – and he'd been so exhausted on his second one – because they'd spent the day sorting through his parents' things – that he'd gone straight to bed.

This time, he had nothing to do. He managed to spend an hour helping Kreacher; though Kreacher was used to Harry's help in the kitchen by now, he still didn't particularly like the idea, though he coped. When Harry mentioned wanting to cook something, however, Kreacher became rather distressed and shooed Harry out so that he could do it himself; Kreacher didn't seem to understand that Harry was more interested in the process of cooking – which would take time – than in the outcome.

And so it was, that Harry found himself in the library, lying on the couch, staring at the roof.

_I bet Padfoot and Moony are having fun, _he thought, pushing his glasses up; they were trying to slide down his nose. _I wonder what they do on full moons... do they sit around and bark at each other – can they understand each other? - or sleep, or go for walks... _

Suddenly curious, Harry sat up and rolled off the couch.

A minute or so later, he was back in the library, clutching his mirror.

"Padfoot," he said, and then pulled a face. His reflection pulled one back. "Oops. Er... Sirius Black." The mirror shimmered and then Harry could see Moony's garden and in the distance, his picket fence and the forest; Padfoot must have left it somewhere – probably leaning against the spare bedroom window if the view was any indication – where he would be able to see it from the garden.

Unfortunately, neither of them were in the garden. Harry's face fell a little and he squinted at the forest, trying to make out shapes, but nothing presented itself to him. He let the image fade – it was clever, he thought, the way the mirror sensed its user's intentions - and put the mirror on the table.

Disappointed, but thoughtful, Harry went back downstairs, hoping he could pester Kreacher into letting him help again.

* * *

Padfoot was late home the next morning. He Flooed home just after nine, when Harry was about to go through the fire himself to see what was going on. He was supporting a pale, semi-conscious Moony and sporting a set of painful looking cuts around his nose and mouth. Harry ran forward to help and together, they managed to get Moony into one of the chairs.

"Morning," Padfoot said, touching a cut close to his eye. His hand came away bloody.

"Morning," Harry said, hurrying over to the pantry. His hand closed around a bottle of Dittany.

"Oh, brilliant," Padfoot said, spotting it. "Do you mind doing it? I can't really see..." Harry unscrewed the bottle while Padfoot took a seat and tilted his head back. Harry sat on the table and carefully dripped Dittany into each of the cuts. It was obvious now, that they were bite marks.

"There," he said, as the cuts hissed and closed over. One on the side of Padfoot's nose left a scar but the rest healed seamlessly.

"Cheers, kiddo."

"Is Moony-?"

"'M fine," Moony groaned. Padfoot snorted.

"It was a bad transformation, both times," he said to Harry.

"'M right here," Moony muttered without opening his eyes. "Can hear you."

"I know," Padfoot said cheerfully. "And you'd hear me even if I whispered, so there's really no point in pretending." Moony mumbled something that Harry thought might have been a swear word. Padfoot looked confused – obviously he hadn't understood it either – and then shrugged.

"Anyway, he only had a small graze on his shoulder because I got snappy when he did this-" Padfoot waved a hand at his healed face. "-and I healed that already." Moony muttered something else and Padfoot chuckled. "I've dosed him with Comforting Concoctions and Painkilling Potions and a Cramp Cure but he's still a bit drowsy."

"Mmph," Moony said. Harry smiled.

"I figure we'll keep him here until he wakes up, and in the meantime, we can have breakfast-"

"Nnngh."

"What?" Harry asked, bemused.

"He doesn't want to eat," Padfoot said. "But that's too bad," he added, poking Moony's shoulder. Moony twitched and, several seconds later, lifted a hand to swat in Padfoot's direction. "So, what's for breakfast?"

Harry fetched the croissants he and Kreacher had made the night before and put them in the oven to warm up. The smell of cooking lured Kreacher downstairs and he sent Harry back to the table while he made tea and saw to the heating. Padfoot inhaled his breakfast and then coaxed Moony into eating a few bites of his croissant. Moony woke up a little and ate with a bit more enthusiasm when Kreacher set a plate of bacon and sausages down in front of him; Harry'd noticed he liked meat more when a full moon was approaching or had just been.

"So what do you do on full moons?" Harry asked, nibbling on a piece of his croissant.

"Run around in the forest, mostly," Padfoot said.

"Wait for it to end," Moony groaned, resting his head on his arms. "Wish to have never been born."

"They aren't that bad," Padfoot said, rolling his eyes. "He's just cranky," he told Harry, who wasn't sure if Moony was joking or not.

"I can hear you!"

"I know," Padfoot said cheerfully. Moony groaned. Padfoot refilled their teacups. "Back at Hogwarts we used to explore the grounds and the village, but we're a bit limited with space; if we go too far into Hurtwood, there's a chance we might run into muggles and since it's only me now... Well, we stay pretty close to home. It's all pretty uneventful, really."

"I almost bit your face off," Moony said into the table.

"Details," Padfoot said. Moony gave him a two-fingered salute. Harry sniggered into his teacup. "Why do you ask?" Padfoot asked, looking thoughtful.

"Just curious," Harry lied. Padfoot arched an eyebrow.

"He's lying," Moony said. Harry shot him an irritated look but Moony was still resting his head on the table. Padfoot's lips were twitching.

"Well?" he asked.

"I told you: I'm just-"

"Lies!" Moony groaned. Harry groaned too, and sank back into his chair.

"Fine," Harry said reluctantly. "I was wondering if, maybe, I mean, you don't have to, but-"

"Spit it out," Padfoot said, looking entertained.

"Could you maybe teach me to be an Animagus?" Harry said, wincing.

"No!" Moony said, finally looking up again. He looked quite upset. "It was bad enough when Padfoot, Prongs and Wormtail did it. It's too dangerous for you to be running around after me-"

"There'd be two of us," Harry said, gesturing to Padfoot, who was still silent on the matter; that gave Harry hope, because the idea hadn't been shot down straight away. "He'd be safer too-" He'd thought about this last night.

"Assuming you're something big enough," Moony said. "Padfoot, tell him it's a dangerous idea." Harry noticed he'd said it was a dangerous idea, not a bad one.

"The risk's what makes it fun," Padfoot murmured, and Moony fell silent. He was wearing an odd expression, now, one that Harry couldn't decipher. "And _if_ we taught him, it'll be at least a year-"

"Year?" Moony asked. "It took you three!"

"We didn't have a teacher," Padfoot said. "We didn't know what books were helpful – the library didn't have the ones that were, remember?" Moony nodded reluctantly. "And then we didn't know which method to use and-"

"You've made your point," Moony said curtly.

"Is that a yes?" Harry asked hopefully.

"No," Padfoot said. "It's still incredibly complex magic, no matter what method you choose – well above anything you're capable of yet. I think in a few years it's probably a good idea – and Merlin knows it's a damn useful skill to have – but right now... there's no real reason not to, but there isn't really a good reason _to _do it." Harry nodded – he'd prepared for this.

"All right," he said. Padfoot nodded and picked up his tea cup and Moony put his head back down onto his arms. "Then I'm calling in my favour." Moony looked up, confused. Padfoot looked confused too, for a moment, but he eventually remembered the favour Harry was referring to.

He swore, rather loudly and then leaned back in his chair and said, "Bloody hell. As your guardian, I'm either doing something very right, or very wrong."

"Wrong," Moony said at once. Padfoot poked his tongue out. "And what favour?"

"When we first moved here," Padfoot sighed, "there was a misunderstanding that led to me getting Harry to tell me everything about his aunt, uncle and cousin. He wasn't keen on the idea so I told him that he could ask me something. I said it could be a question, a favour or anything else he wanted to ask." He smiled at Harry, who grinned back.

"Should have known you'd made some stupid deal," Moony muttered. Harry hid another smile; there was no venom behind it, it was just Moony being grumpy for the sake of being grumpy. Padfoot didn't seem offended either and Harry supposed he was used to post-full-moon-Moony. "So you're teaching him?" Moony asked flatly, but he didn't look angry, just worried.

"I'm a man of my word," Padfoot said. Oddly, this made Moony grin.

"Then you should be extremely grateful it's this he's asking for."

"Why?" Padfoot and Harry asked together.

"Padfoot, you promised him _anything_. It's not an Unbreakable Vow, but there are still quite a few things he could have asked you to overlook or help him with without being unreasonable."

"Point taken," Padfoot said.

"I should hope so," Moony said, and Harry coughed to hide a laugh.

"All right, kiddo," Padfoot said. "I'll make you a deal."

"What deal?"

"I'll honour the favour – no changing it or saving it now," he added hastily. Moony laughed – his head was back down – and Padfoot pulled a face at him. "I'll help you, regardless of when you start learning," he said. Harry beamed. "But, if you want to start learning now, you're funding it. You have to buy everything. If you put this off for a couple of years, until you're eleven, I'll buy everything you think you need."

Harry thought for a moment. When Padfoot put it that way, it was tempting to wait. But, then again, if he started learning now, it'd cost him, sure, but he'd still have help and he could well _be_ an Animagus by the time he was eleven.

"So if I learn now, I have to pay," Harry clarified. Padfoot nodded. "Using my own money?"

"That's sort of implied, yes. And I'll know if you take anything from our stashes," he warned.

"I wouldn't steal it!" Harry said indignantly. He thought a moment longer and then grinned as a thought occurred to him.

"What?" Padfoot asked warily; Harry was still grinning.

"I'll pay," Harry said.

"Of course you will," Padfoot sighed. "And might I ask how? You get a galleon a week in pocket money and yes, we've been here a while now, but books on Animagi don't come cheap and the books you'll need to understand the books on Animagi don't come cheap either."

"And you've been spending some of it," Moony muttered.

"It won't be a problem," Harry assured them both.

"All right," Padfoot said with a smug look; he thought he'd won. Harry knew better. "Get dressed and we'll take you down to Diagon Alley and we'll see how far you can get with thirty galleons."

"_We're_ not taking him anywhere, Padfoot," Moony grumbled as Harry stood up. "You can go book-shopping to your heart's content. _I _am going home."

"Is Moonbeam tired?" Padfoot asked in a baby-voice. "Poor little-"

"Sirius, I swear to Godric if you finish that sentence, I really will bite your face off."

* * *

"I'm an idiot," Padfoot groaned as Harry stepped into his vault and scooped a handful of galleons into a small leather pouch.

"You forgot about this, didn't you?" Harry said, gesturing at the vault his parents had left for him.

"Idiot," Padfoot repeated, pretending to bang his forehead on the stone walls. "And you're too smart for your own good."

"I'll have to be if I'm going to have any luck with this," Harry said, brushing a strand of brown hair out of his face; today, he was a short boy with brown hair and brown eyes.

"James and Lily are probably laughing at me, right now," Padfoot whispered, with a wary look at Gurbock, who made no sign that he'd heard.

Fifteen minutes later they found themselves in Florish and Blotts, browsing through the dusty shelves for the books they were after. Padfoot pulled _Brew Or Bewitch: The Animagus Choice_ off of a shelf and passed it to Harry.

"If you want to use the spell method," Padfoot said, "you're going to need to learn Latin."

"Which one did you do?"

"Spell method," Padfoot said. "But we used the potion one at the start because we couldn't get the damn meditation process to work."

"But you don't know Latin," Harry said, remembering an old conversation.

"Nope."

"Then how-"

"James learned enough to help us out. You don't need to be fluent or anything, but you do need to be able to translate a paragraph properly."

"Damn," Harry said.

"Bad luck, kiddo," Padfoot said, and passed him an enormous book called _Polish your Pronunciation and Gild your Grammar._ Harry also grabbed an English to Latin Dictionary. Padfoot added _A Guide to Major Animal Families and their Characteristics_ to Harry's pile.

"I can't find _Embracing Your Inner Beast,_" Padfoot said after another half an hour of walking around the shop.

"Do we need it?"

"Hello, there!"

"Hi," Harry mumbled.

"Can I help you, gentlemen?" asked a wizard with a badge that proclaimed him 'Store Manager'.

"Yes, actually," Padfoot said. "I'm looking for a book called _Embracing Your Inner Beast._"

"_Embracing Your Inner Beast_..." the Manager murmured, before his blue eyes brightened. "I know the one."

"Do you have it?" Padfoot asked.

"Do we have it?" the Manager asked, looking insulted. "Of course we do!"

"Brilliant," Padfoot said, smiling at Harry over his shoulder. "I'd like that, and the four of those, then, thanks."

"I'm not permitted to just hand out copies of that particular text," the Manager said. "If you fill out the application form, we can get a copy to you as soon as it's approved, or you can drop by the Improper Use Of Magic Office and pick one up in person. It covers complex magic-"

"And this one doesn't?" Padfoot asked, gesturing to _Brew Or Bewitch_.

"That one covers the procedure only, and talks about the advantages and disadvantages associated with each of the methods," the Manager said importantly. "The one you're after actually provides you with information that enables you to apply the procedures and begin the transformation process. With it, you could become an Animagus."

"That's sort of the point," Padfoot said, rolling his eyes.

"The Ministry uses the book to monitor anyone who's attempting to transform. With that information, they can check in on those practicing to make sure that they're going about it in a safe and legal manner."

_Uh oh, _Harry thought.

"Right," Padfoot said. "I'll pick it up after work tomorrow then."

"Very good, sir. Are you still after those four?"

The Manager took the books from Harry – whose arms were beginning to ache – and led them to the counter. While he was ahead, Harry slipped his money bag into Padfoot's hand, and Padfoot used it to pay.

"So what do we do?" Harry muttered, as they left the shop clutching two wrapped books each.

"Peter ended up with our old copy, since he was the last to manage it, so that's out," Padfoot muttered, leading the way down the street. "Going to the Ministry's out of the question. They do wand checks and magical signature analysis if you register and there's no way I'm risking that... There's one place we could try..."

"Where?"

Padfoot tipped a shoulder at a dark space between two shops. A sign there said, _Knockturn Alley_. Harry could just make out people moving in the dim light.

"They've got a bookshop, I think," Padfoot said. "Walpole's. The Ministry's been trying to shut it down for years – since before I started Hogwarts - but somehow it stays open..."

"Would they have the book?"

"Probably," Padfoot admitted. "I've never been there myself but the fact that the Ministry wants to restrict access to it probably means that Walpole wants to share it with everyone."

"So are we going?"

Padfoot glanced around and tugged Harry into a corner. He shrunk the book parcels with a tap of his wand and shoved them into one of his pockets. He then rapped Harry on the head with his wand and started to mutter under his breath. Harry felt himself stretching upward until he was tall – nearly Padfoot's height – and a beard itched on his chin.

"Weird," he said, looking at one of his enormous hands. His voice was deep and a little croaky.

"Kids don't go down there," Padfoot explained, turning his wand on himself; he made his hair black again, and streaked it with silver. "Except for maybe Death Eater kids. Stay close to me – don't wander, don't talk to anyone. Let me handle it. All right?"

"Erm... sure."

"Keep your wand out." Harry took a tentative step after him and almost fell. Padfoot managed to steady him and then tapped him once more. Harry's beard turned silver instead of brown. "Keep a hand on my shoulder to help you walk. You can be my father."

Together, they made their way off of the main street and down into Knockturn Alley.

The first thing that Harry noticed was the smell; it was a cold, mouldy sort of odour and seemed to permeate the entire street. The second thing was the lack of shoppers. There were plenty of people around, but they weren't walking the streets; they were lingering in the doorways of shops, and in little alcoves. One woman was holding a box of what looked alarmingly like dried, human ears.

Harry shuddered and moved as close to Padfoot as he could without walking into him. Harry only tripped once, and was instantly surrounded by people trying to help him.

"Back off," Padfoot warned, raising his wand. Several ugly woman and an old man stepped back, murmuring about just wanting to help. "Just wanted to help yourselves to his money bag, you mean," Padfoot growled. "This way, Father," he said. It took Harry a moment to realise Padfoot was addressing him. He gripped his wand and followed, holding Padfoot's shoulder for support.

Walpole's was a dingy little shop that Harry would have walked right past if Padfoot hadn't pointed it out. It was wedged between an impressive looking apothecary and a shop that sold illegal and exotic animals; Harry thought he could see a large green dragon's egg in the window, and a rather scary looking creature that was a mix between a bird and a lizard.

Walpole's was lit by oil lamps which cast sinister shadows on the shelves. The floor was creaky, pale wood and the shelves were full of dark, leather bound books, not unlike those in the library at Grimmauld Place. It was much darker than Flourish and Blott's.

"Wait here," Padfoot said, stopping beside a wall; Harry figured he could lean on it because he still felt a little wobbly on his feet. "I'll buy it and then we'll go. Do _not_ leave the shop."

"Okay," Harry whispered back. Padfoot vanished between two rickety shelves.

"Can I help you with something?" A tall woman glided out from behind a shelf, startling Harry. She had a high, almost musical voice with a strong Irish accent and her long, dark hair trailed on the floor behind her. Her most stand-out feature, however, was her face. She looked like Padfoot had when Harry'd first met him; skeletal, with sunken eyes and waxy skin that was orange in the lamp-light.

"Er..." Harry said, tearing his eyes away from her. "Er... no. I'm just- Oh, here it is." He grabbed a book off the shelf and held it up. "I've been looking for this one for ages."

"I see," the woman purred. "Is that all you're after today?"

"Yes- no. My... er... son's just-"

"Do I make you nervous?" she asked, looking sour all of a sudden.

"You?" Harry asked, too puzzled by the question to be nervous about lying. "No. Why?" Her face cleared and she gave him a small smile.

"Merely curious. I know I am not as desirable as my French cousins."

"French...?"

"The Veela," she said, shaking her head. Her dark hair rippled down her back and stirred a little dust on the shop floor. "They are more beautiful, yes?"

"I've never seen one," Harry said honestly, though he thought she was probably right; she was no beauty to look at, but she did seem nice. She gave him another small smile.

"What is your name?"

"Har- Harold." She considered him for a moment and then held out a hand. Harry tucked the book under his elbow so that he could shake it. The handshake was a bit clumsy because Harry wasn't used to his large hands, but she seemed to appreciate the gesture. "What's yours?" Harry asked.

"Keira," she said slowly, tilting her head to examine him better. Harry shifted.

"Got it!" Padfoot exclaimed, emerging from behind a shelf. He paused and paled a little when he saw her. She, oddly, had done the same. Harry glanced between them. "Are you ready to go, Father?" Padfoot asked.

"Er... sure," Harry said. Keira gave him an uncertain smile.

"Allow me to show you gentlemen to the counter." She turned and swept down one of the aisles.

"Are you all right?" Padfoot hissed.

"Fine," Harry said. "Why?" Padfoot just shook his head. "Oh, we have to buy this." Harry passed Padfoot the book he'd picked off the shelf.

"What's this?" Padfoot muttered out of the side of his mouth.

"I'll explain later."

Keira showed them to a woman at the counter. Like Keira, she was no beauty; she had a hairy chin, a large wart on her forehead and squinty blue eyes. She gave them a welcoming smile, though, and Harry thought she seemed friendly enough too.

"Odd choice," she murmured, looking at the titles. The book Harry had picked up was _Secrets Of The Darkest Art. _He flushed and Padfoot gave him an odd look. "It's a galleon each for those." Harry passed the coins over and Keira gave him another curious glance. He looked back at her, confused. "Wrap those for me, dear, would you?" the woman asked.

"Yes, Madam Walpole," Keira murmured. They exchanged places behind the counter and the Madam Walpole gave her a fond smile before going off to return books to their shelves. Padfoot watched Keira's every move, looking interested.

"Do I make you nervous?" she asked Padfoot in the same sour tone as she had used with Harry.

"A little," he said, shrugging, "but you seem all right so far." Keira surprised Harry by smiling faintly.

"I was just thinking the same thing," she said.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

"No magic can hide my face," she said, waving a slender hand over her cheeks. "And so, no one can hide their face from me. Do you understand?"

"No," Harry said.

"Yes," Padfoot said, and swore. She smiled again and passed their wrapped books over the counter. Padfoot tapped them with his wand and tucked them into his pocket with the others. He kept his wand out, pointed at her, though. Harry made a small noise of protest, but Padfoot shook his head. Keira glanced at the wand and then at Padfoot's face.

"Not all prisoners are guilty," she said, "just as not all banshees are evil." Padfoot cocked his head and then lowered his wand.

"I see," he said.

"See what?" Harry dared to ask. Neither answered him. Keira led them to the door; Harry held onto Padfoot again. Moments before she opened it, she turned and gave them another one of her smiles.

"Thank you," she said, glancing at Padfoot before her eyes came to rest on Harry. "Thank you for not being nervous."

"Er... you're welcome," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "It was nice to meet you," he added.

"It was nice to meet you too, Harry," she said, smiling. "Perhaps you will come back one day."

"Thanks," Padfoot said to her. She opened the door and bowed them out. Only when they were out on the street again, did Harry realise she'd called him Harry and not Harold. He turned around, half expecting to see her standing there with a wand levelled. Instead, Keira smiled again and vanished into the shadowy depths of the shop. "So, _Secrets Of The Darkest Art_? Something you want to tell me about?"

"She wanted to know why I was standing around and I just grabbed it off of the shelf," Harry muttered. "Sorry, okay?"

Padfoot's shoulder shook under Harry's hand as he laughed. Harry pulled a face at the back of Padfoot's head and they made their way back to the Leaky Cauldron so that they could Floo home.

* * *

Remus had assumed his standard, post-full-moon position, lying on his couch, staring at the roof. As was also becoming standard, he was disturbed.

He'd been dozing when he'd heard the window creak. Assuming it was just Strix, he'd settled back in, but then he'd heard a thump and footsteps.

"Yes, Dora?" he asked, and the footsteps stopped.

"How'd you know it was me?"

"Only you and Mad-Eye come in through the window and I couldn't hear his leg."

"Fair enough," she said, moving into his line of sight; she tripped on her feet as she did so, and landed clumsily on the couch opposite his.

"Why did you use the window, by the way?" he asked.

"Mad-Eye's orders. Keep you on your toes. Are you all right? You're pale..."

"Tired," Remus said. "And if you don't mind me saying, you look rather pale yourself." She scrunched up her face and forced colour into her cheeks.

"Better?"

"Honestly?" he asked. She nodded. "You look sunburned." Her hair flashed pink and the pink in her cheeks faded to a healthier shade. "I thought you had the Program this afternoon."

"We went to Azkaban this morning," she said quietly. Her hair turned a dull grey and her face went a chalky colour. "They gave us the rest of the day to recover."

"Is it that bad?" Remus asked.

"It's freezing out there, and it's windy and oh, Remus, it's the most horrible place I've ever been! I thought I was going to go mad and I was only there for a few hours! There's no colour at all! Everything's grey!" She paused suddenly. "You've never been?"

"No. Why?"

"You're so... worldly... I just assumed -"

"You assumed I'd gone to satisfy my curiosity?" he asked, smiling. Her hair was pink again, and she nodded. "It's flattering that you think I'm so adventurous," he said. She grinned. "But no, unfortunately – or fortunately, really – I've never been to, or had any desire to visit Azkaban."

"Well, I wouldn't recommend it."

_Neither would Sirius, _Remus thought.

"Noted," he said and then glanced at her pale face again. "Would you like some chocolate? It helps."

"Mad-Eye gave me some," she said, shaking her head.

"How much?" Remus asked. He took an inconspicuous sniff and then sneezed; she smelled like death, if that was possible, and also, very faintly of chocolate, indicating that – while she'd had some – it probably hadn't been much. He was surprised at Mad-Eye, who was usually generous with remedies of any sort.

"A whole block."

"Did you eat it all?" he asked shrewdly.

"Well, I sort of shared it," she said sheepishly. "Ben and Melvin only needed a bit but McKinnon and Florence found it pretty tough..."

"And so, being the good Hufflepuff you are, you shared," Remus surmised. "So I repeat, would you like some?"

She gave him a guilty, slightly pleading smile which Remus took to mean yes. He Summoned – because he didn't feel like moving – a block of Honeydukes' best and offered it to her. She offered to pay for it, but Remus refused – even more adamantly than he might have because she was offering sickles again and he was not in the mood. She finished – admittedly, he helped a fair bit – the whole block in a few minutes and he was amused to notice her hair had changed from grey to a rich brown.

"So," he said, crushing the foil into a ball, "did you come for my chocolate or is there something else I can help you with?"

"The chocolate," she said, grinning, and then sobered. "Actually, I wanted to see if you were all right."

"I'm fine," he said automatically. "Why wouldn't I be?" Unfortunately, his voice chose that moment to struggle.

"You tell me," she said, narrowing her eyes. Then she sighed. "It's just that you've missed a few days with the search lately and I thought, since I had the afternoon off... If it's none of my business, that's fine, but I thought I should make sure you were all right."

Remus felt mild irritation at being babied, but it was weak in comparison to how touched he was; he could count on two hands the number of people who had ever expressed such genuine concern for him. He could count on one hand those that were still alive. In fact, he was touched enough to share several half-truths.

"On Halloween," he said, noticing that she looked surprised that he was offering the information, "I was visiting Lily and James. It's always a hard day for me... I wouldn't have been much use searching at all, I'm afraid." She gave him a sad look.

"And then yesterday I wasn't feeling well so I thought I'd better not push it and I'm glad I didn't. I had a pretty uncomfortable night, to be honest. I think I'm on the mend though." She smiled. "I'm almost positive it's a twenty-four hour thing." _As in, twenty four hours a day, every day. But she doesn't need to know that._

"And the one about a month ago?" she asked gently.

"Something similar," he said. "I've been stressed about Harry and Sirius-" Which was not, technically a lie. "-so that probably hasn't helped, but it's all right, really."

"If there's anything I can do to help-"

"I'll keep it in mind," he said smiling.

"Speaking of assisted recovery and everything," she said a moment later, "have you heard from Matt? Is he-"

"He'll be back next week," Remus told her. She looked relieved.

"Good," she said. "It's been so quiet without him around... Did you know?" Remus knew exactly what she was talking about.

"Yes," he said, watching her carefully. "Does it worry you?"

"No," she said thoughtfully. He believed that she believed that but thought time would tell whether it was true or not. "I just..." She cocked her head. "Did it surprise you when you found out?"

"I don't really remember," Remus said, because that was the easiest answer.

"It surprised me," she admitted. "He didn't seem like the type, or... I don't know, I just didn't see it coming."

"It's always the last ones you expect," Remus told her, because he couldn't help himself.


	33. An Overdue Explanation

_Secrets Of The Darkest Art _was a source of Padfoot's amusement for almost a month. Harry didn't know how he could find it even remotely humourous after the first day, but he did. Harry thought he'd have stopped sooner if Harry wasn't so embarrassed by the whole ordeal.

The first few weeks, at least twice a day, he took to doing impressions of Harry; he'd stand around somewhere, and wait for either Harry or Moony to ask what he was doing, before doing a passable imitation of Harry's stuttering and producing the book from somewhere nearby.

By the beginning of December, he'd progressed to reading the blurb aloud in a sinister voice – Harry thought he'd heard it enough times to recite it – and, by mid-December, he was brave enough to actually open the book; with Padfoot being Padfoot, it had only been a matter of time.

Harry was in the kitchen, poring over _Embracing Your Inner Beast_ for instructions on how to make the potion that – if he made it properly – would allow him to see his animal-form. He'd decided to use the spell method – which involved the creation of a spell that would change him into an animal – but use the potion to find his form, instead of the meditation, which Padfoot firmly maintained did not work.

Padfoot was in the seat opposite him, holding _Secrets Of The Darkest Art_ and reading from the contents page; Harry knew from the blurb that it contained quite a bit of dark, destructive magic and was seriously thinking about using some of it to get rid of the stupid book. Moony, who was in the seat next to Padfoot's - and was having a late lunch, courtesy of Kreacher – was thoroughly amused by the whole process.

"Oh, look," Padfoot said. "Necromancy. Very useful, don't you think, Moony?"

"Shut up," Harry muttered, without looking up from the page he was reading. He sensed rather than saw Padfoot's grin.

"Very," Moony agreed tiredly, winking at Harry, who quickly looked down again. Moony had been entertained by the story of how they found the book and impressed that Harry had managed to befriend a banshee. Moony leaned over to read something else off the page. "And the Unforgivables are here. How nice. Brilliant book choice, Harry, I must say."

"Truly commendable," Padfoot agreed. Harry pulled a face at him and silently promised to slip something into Padfoot's tea that afternoon.

"Tell me again how you found this one?" And something in Moony's tea too, he thought.

"What _are_ the Unforgivables, anyway?" Harry asked.

"Read chapter four and find out," Padfoot said slyly. Harry pulled another face and Padfoot pulled one back. "And then-" Padfoot made a funny choking noise and set the book down on the table.

"What?" Harry and Moony asked.

Padfoot swallowed once, grey eyes wide, and turned the book around so that they could see it. Then, he pointed to chapter seven. Written there, on the contents page, was _The Horcrux_.

Harry was as stunned as the others – no point denying that – but through his shock, he uncovered another emotion. Vindication.

"Look, a chapter about Horcruxes," he said archly, in the same tone both Padfoot and Moony had used before. "Interesting topic, don't you think? Worth reading about at the very least? Good thing we bought-"

"Oh no you don't," Padfoot said. "Don't you even _try_ to justify-"

"Don't start," Moony said wearily; the full moon had only been two nights ago and he was still recovering. "Just read." Padfoot pulled a face at him – and then rolled his eyes at Harry, who was still feeling smug – before pulling the book over again and flicking through to the specified page.

"The Horcrux," Padfoot began in a spooky voice. "Through-"

"Sirius," Moony sighed.

"You're no fun," Padfoot whined but he read on in his normal voice. "Throughout history, man has always sought immortality and of the available methods, the creation of a Horcrux has proven to be the most effective of these." He looked up and arched his eyebrows at them before continuing. "The first known Horcrux was created in Ancient Rome by the wizard Longinus, who served the emperor of the time. Longinus killed the emperor and used his death to secure his own immortality and his place as emperor."

"What are they, though?" Moony asked, though he looked fascinated. Padfoot shrugged and kept reading.

"Longinus' death was a true accident; he was engaged in battle when a fire – believed to be Fiendfyre - destroyed the hiding place of his Horcrux. Almost simultaneously – scholars argue there was a conspiracy in motion - his lung was pierced with an arrow and, believing himself to be immortal, Longinus refused help, ordering his healers to help the other soldiers. He died from his wound the next day... Cheerful read, this," Padfoot muttered, and then cleared his throat.

"It is believed Longinus revealed the secrets to his long rule to Wahankh, an Egyptian priest, who lived for an astounding three hundred and fifty years, almost twelve times the life-expectancy of that period. Wahankh's writings reveal a "secret life" which he kept hidden in an amulet he wore on his person and this is believed to be the second Horcrux to ever exist in the history of wizarding-kind."

"Horcruxes, being simpler to make in ancient times due to the harsh lifestyle and the frequency of wars, were prevalent for several hundred years. Wizards of significance were assumed to have one as a precaution and this was accepted by the wizarding community. By the sixteen-hundreds, Horcruxes were less common, however, and by the seventeen-hundreds, they were frowned upon, before a cross-continental law was established in seventeen-eighty-six, banning the creation of Horcuxes."

"The Department of Mysteries belonging to the British Ministry of Magic, the Chinese Department of Magical Exploration and the North American Magical Anomalies Sector all united in the early eighteen-hundreds to purge the world of Horcruxes and their creators... we get it, all the evil gits died," Padfoot said to the book. "Now, what are they?"

"You've got the book," Moony said. Padfoot scowled and fell silent, scanning the page. After a moment, his eyes stopped moving; he was staring, rather than reading.

"Fuck," Padfoot whispered.

"Did you find it?"

"Yep," Padfoot said faintly; his face had turned the colour of parchment, his jaw was so tight that Harry half-expected his teeth to crack and he was holding the book so tightly that his knuckles were white.

"Well, what is it?" Harry demanded. "Is it something bad?"

"You might say that."

"Well?" Moony asked impatiently.

"It's soul," Padfoot said, with enormous eyes. "It's a piece of soul in an external container."

"Tell me that's a joke," Moony said, while Harry stared at Padfoot, horrified. "Padfoot?"

"One must split the soul through an act of deliberate murder, and ensure no remorse is felt..." Padfoot read. "Remorse mends the damage..." His eyes flicked back and forward; obviously he was only reading certain parts of the book. "Should the caster follow the correct instructions, they will be able to embed half of their soul in another object. Throughout history, wizards have chosen objects of significance to guard their souls, some even choose animals or people... So long as the soul and its shelter are intact, the creator cannot die."

"That's disgusting," Moony said flatly. "Who _kills_ someone to prolong their own life?!"

"Never mind that!" Harry said feeling ill. "If that's true, then we've got a piece of Voldmort's soul sitting in the drawing room!"

"Holy Hufflepuff," Padfoot said weakly. "I touched the damn thing! And no wonder it attacked you, after what you did to him."

"Does this mean he's definitely coming back?" Harry asked, rubbing his scar. He wasn't quite able to keep the trepidation out of his voice. "I mean, if he's got a Horcrux then he's immortal, isn't he? He can't die."

"And either must die at the hand of the other..." Padfoot murmured, glancing at Moony. Moony's eyes widened.

"You don't think...?"

"It's possible, isn't it?" Padfoot murmured. "If the second part isn't actually about _him-_"

"It could be about his soul," Moony finished. "Yes, it's possible."

"Who? And who's dying?" Harry interrupted.

"Voldemort, hopefully," Padfoot said, with a grim smile.

"Does it say anything about destroying it?" Moony asked, tapping the book. Padfoot picked it up again and browsed through for several minutes. The revolted, disbelieving look on his face was almost comical, or would have been, if Harry didn't know that he was probably learning how to extract souls.

"There are two ways," Padfoot announced, finally. "The first is remorse - fat chance of _that_ ever happening..." Moony snorted. "And the other is to put the Horcrux beyond magical repair."

"But magic can fix everything," Harry said. Padfoot's mouth turned down.

"No," Moony said. "Not everything."

* * *

"-thought they might have slowed down a bit because Christmas is only twelve days away, but apparently not," Dora said.

"At least you won't get bored," Remus said.

"I don't mind," she said, jamming her hands into her pockets; they were probably cold. His were nice and warm, though he wasn't wearing gloves. A slightly warmer than normal body temperature had its advantages in winter, though it was unpleasant in summer. "I knew it would be intensive. I'm just a bit surprised. I had more spare time when I was doing my N.E.W.T.s."

Remus chuckled. "Be thankful you aren't in the accelerated Program. James and Sirius were studying every day and I had other friends who were in the Program _during_ their N.E.W.T. year..."

"And Keith thinks _I _work a lot."

Remus chuckled again. "Are you still seeing too much of Helga?"

"Yes," she said. "But it makes up for not seeing much of Keith himself at the moment, so it's all right."

"Are you fighting?" Remus asked, concerned.

"No, just busy," she sighed. They separated around a line of school children and then came back together again. "I have training all day tomorrow and then I'm at Mad-Eye's tomorrow night-"

"Go home," Remus said.

"What?"

"Go home," he repeated. "Surprise Keith or something. Have a break." She looked tempted but shook her head.

"I can't! I'm here to work-"

"It's one o'clock now. We've got ten minutes until lunch and then a few more hours of walking this same route." Remus couldn't wait until the new year, when he'd no longer have to do it. "You won't be missing much."

"Last time I left early Sirius showed up," Dora said, frowning.

"Personally, I think that probably traumatised him as much as it did me," Remus said, giving her a small smile. She slipped on a patch of concealed ice and he caught her arm without breaking pace. She grinned and thanked him. "It's all right. He'll be lying low for a while yet."

"But-"

"Go on," Remus said. "I've had you cover my missed shifts more times than I can count. I can handle a few hours alone."

"It wouldn't be right-" The roots of her hair were turning an odd turquoise colour; obviously it indicated indecision.

"Dora," he said, smiling. "Go." She bit her lip. "_Dora_."

"_Remus_." He waited. "Fine!" she huffed. "Fine, I'll go. But you'd better not run into Malfoy. And if Sirius shows up, so help me Merlin-"

"It'll be fine," Remus assured her. She seemed to deflate.

"Thanks," she said, offering him a smile. He smiled back and then she pulled a face. "Arabella's going to think I've run off to play with Sirius."

"No, she- well, all right, she probably will-"

"Just when she was starting to like me again, too," Dora laughed and then sighed.

"I'll tell her your mum's sick," Remus said. "That one always works."

"Tell her my cat's sick," Dora suggested, grinning.

"You want her to believe the story," Remus told her, "not go rushing to your house to help you nurse your cat."

She laughed and then, looking thoughtful, added, "With Canis it would take two."

"You actually have a cat?" Remus asked, surprised.

"He's a horrible little creature," she said cheerfully.

_Well, that explains why she never smells like one_, Remus thought.

"Are you sure-"

"Positive," Remus said. "Now go home, before I take you myself."

She pulled a face at him and glanced around for muggles before vanishing with a popping sound. Remus smiled at the place where she'd Disapparated and then continued along the street they'd been walking.

The last fifteen minutes of his search-route was boring without her but not unpleasant. He made his way back to the Leaky Cauldron at lunch time to find it packed with customers. Thankfully, Arabella, Debbie and Dirk had already secured a table and had ordered a plate of sandwiches to share.

"Where's Theodora?" Arabella asked, pursing her lips.

"Where's Matt?" Remus asked at the same time. They both laughed and Debbie and Dirk looked amused.

"Haven't seen him," Arabella said, shrugging.

"Theodora's mother owled," Remus countered. "She's not well, so Dora's gone home to make sure she's all right. I told her to have the afternoon off." Arabella pursed her lips and it was clear to Remus what she was thinking, though thankfully she didn't voice it; after Remus had agreed to 'talk' to Dora – a talk which had involved him explaining that Arabella was suspicious of her – he'd told Arabella that she was trustworthy, and that he didn't want to hear any more unfounded accusations. Thus far, she'd listened and kept her mouth shut.

"I'm going to go," Debbie announced, standing up. "I'll search the streets around the outside of the pub, if that's all right?"

"Perfectly fine," Remus said, smiling at her.

"You don't want lunch?" Dirk asked. Debbie shook her head; spending lots of time in the pub made her uncomfortable, because -though she was a werewolf - she was still technically a muggle.

"See you all tomorrow," she said.

Remus, Arabella and Dirk talked about non-search related things while they waited for Tom to bring them lunch. Matt still hadn't arrived by the time the sandwiches had and Remus was beginning to feel uneasy. Matt was easily distracted, though he usually tried to stay in contact. Arabella seemed certain that he'd stopped searching to talk to a girl somewhere and while Remus agreed that it was possible, he'd have expected a message if that was the case.

"Here's lunch," Tom said, setting down a plate loaded with sandwiches. "Also, I've got a message for you, Remus, from that boy who comes in lots... Matthew?"

"Did he come in?" Remus asked.

"Been and gone," Tom said, nodding. "'Bout twenty minutes before you lot started getting here." He gestured to Dirk and Arabella who were eating with relish.

"Was he alone?" Arabella asked, swallowing.

"No," Tom said. "He-"

"Ha!" Arabella said, returning to her lunch. "Told you, Remus. He's fine."

"-was with his father," Tom continued. Remus' sense of unease peaked. "Mr Matthew-" Remus assumed Tom was referring to Matt's father. "-was in a bit of a rush, but the lad had the time to give me this." He passed over a piece of scrunched parchment, which Remus opened and smoothed out on the table.

_Remus_, it said, in Matt's messy scrawl; he'd always had the most abysmal handwriting, and this was worse than usual, because it had obviously been written quickly. _Gone camping. Matt._

Remus thanked Tom, who shuffled back to the bar, where a line was beginning to form. Remus re-read the message several times, sure Matt had meant more than what he'd said, but had no idea what. Was it some sort of code? Or, had Cornelius actually taken his son camping? If so, why hadn't Robin been with them? Or had Tom forgotten to mention that?

Arabella and Dirk had eaten their fill while he contemplated the parchment on the table - though they'd left him quite a few sandwiches that he picked at half-heartedly – and left together almost immediately after, discussing a new law that Dirk's Department was trying to get through the Wizengamot.

Remus sat alone, pondering the four words Matt had left him, when a shadow moved over him. He looked up, and then hastily rearranged his frown into a smile, although this was the last person he felt like talking to. Malfoy smiled back, coolly.

"Lupin," he said.

"Lucius," Remus replied mildly. "How are you?"

"Healthy," Malfoy said, pulling a blond hair off of his robes. He pulled out the chair Dirk had occupied and sat, wearing his usual sneer. Remus didn't wait for him to ask back; he knew it would never happen.

"How can I help you?"

"I'm not pleased with the progress the search has made, frankly," Malfoy said, curling his lip. "I'd expected results, and yet, nine months in we're no closer to having either of them."

"I know," Remus said, trying to sound frustrated. It wasn't all that hard; he really didn't like Malfoy. "So what are you planning to do about it?"

"Keep a closer eye on the searchers." Remus' stomach flopped unpleasantly. "You'll look into mine, I'll look into yours. That way I'll be certain that you're not protecting any of them. You'll tell yours that I'm interested to see where my money's going-" The way that he sneered made Remus think that he didn't care much at all. "- and I'll tell mine that you've been promoted and will be spending a little bit of time with all of them to learn the routine."

"So I'll be spying on them?" he asked. Malfoy nodded.

"You'll be investigated yourself," he added casually. "Some of my search team will be instructed to investigate you while you're investigating them and I'll also judge you based on the way your team of misfits performs without you directing them... if they catch Black a day after you leave the group, I'll know you've been holding them back." His grey eyes glinted. Unlike Sirius', which were a warm grey, Malfoy's were like steel; cold and hard. "Should that be the case, I'll see to it that you share a cell."

"Who'll be leading the muggle search then?" Remus asked, as if he didn't know already.

"Tock... That is, if you think she can handle it."

"She's capable," Remus admitted grudgingly.

"Good," he sneered. "I must go – I don't want to catch anything." Remus rolled his eyes. "I'll have more information for you tomorrow morning. You're to be here at eight and then we'll discuss a day for our weekly meetings." He swept away and Remus pulled a face at his back. He was partly relieved, though; Malfoy had effectively set Dora up to take his place, and he'd surely be released from his job as a searcher as soon as the investigation was finished.

If he was quick about it, he could get the screening process done before Christmas and that would leave him free to go to the camp without having his every move monitored-

_Gone camping._

Remus stuffed the note into his pocket and launched out of his seat.

"Excuse me," he said, stepping around a woman who was waiting to order. "Tom! The man Matt was with, what did he look like?"

* * *

"Nymphadora!" Mum shouted.

"Don't call me that! And what?" Tonks shouted back, pulling away from Keith.

"Door!" She sighed and stood, giving Keith an apologetic look. He shrugged, but she thought he looked a little disgruntled. He stood too, and followed her out of her bedroom and into the hall. As she walked, she tried to work out who could possibly be coming to see her, and why it couldn't wait until tomorrow; it was almost nine.

She stopped abruptly and Keith stepped forward, as if to protect her, before recognising the visitor.

"There you are," Mad-Eye growled. Mum turned around, looking relieved; she'd probably been trying to make small talk, which Mad-Eye would have been abysmal at. Mum retreated back to the sitting room, where Tonks heard Dad ask who was there.

"Er... yeah," she said. "Wotcher."

"Let's go," he said, and limped out again.

"Go?" she asked. "Where? Why?"

"Constant vigilance!" he bellowed, turning back around. "You should always be ready to move at a moment's notice. I won't say where in case unwelcome ears are listening." His blue eye lingered on Keith long enough for Tonks to notice before moving away again. "As for why, because I said so!" Keith jumped.

"Fine," she said. "Just let me Summon my cloak." She flicked her wand down the hallway and her cloak came zooming toward her. Canis was holding onto it for dear life; obviously he'd been sleeping on it when she Summoned it. She pried his claws free and dropped him back onto the ground. He immediately wound himself around Keith's legs and mewled until Keith picked him up.

"It's nine o'clock!" Keith protested, as she put her cloak on. Canis snuggled into his arms, and managed to glower at Tonks while doing so.

"And? Mad-Eye asked.

"So you can't force her to work now! Don't go," Keith said, turning to Tonks. "It can wait until morning."

"Can it?" she asked Mad-Eye.

"No," he growled, but he actually looked a little bit worried. Tonks had a thousand questions she wanted to ask, but she didn't think Mad-Eye would take it well if she asked them in front of her boyfriend.

"Of course he'd say that," Keith muttered.

"I have to go," she said, grimacing. "Sorry."

"I swear you're always working," he sighed, stroking Canis' furry head.

"At least we got the afternoon," she said, offering him a smile. He smiled back. Tonks left both Keith and Mad-Eye waiting while she went to explain what she knew – which was very little – to Mum and Dad. When she returned to the hallway, Keith was still holding Canis, and both of them were glaring at Mad-Eye, though Canis' glare was on her the moment she moved into his line of sight.

"What time will you be back?" Keith asked her.

"Can't say," Mad-Eye told him. "No use waiting around for her, though, I'll tell you that much."

"Sorry," Tonks told him. Keith just sighed.

"Nymphadora!" Mad-Eye said impatiently.

"Sorry," she muttered. "I'll... er... see you later."

"Bye," Keith said gloomily, and leaned in for a kiss. Tonks hesitated, wondering what Mad-Eye would have to say about that sort of romantic display, but in the end decided he could just deal with it. Mad-Eye had other ideas. As she leaned in, Mad-Eye grabbed her arm and Disapparated them both away.

"Mad-Eye!" she exclaimed, when the squeeze of Apparition ended. She tripped and landed on something soft and cold; snow. She shot right back up, only to have the snow start to seep in through her socks. She really should have worn shoes.

"Get up," he said, hauling her to her feet.

"What's going on?" she asked using his arm to steady herself.

"You'll see," he said, leading her into the house. Of all the things she expected to find waiting there for her, Remus had been the last. And yet, there he sat, looking scared and defiant and uncomfortable all at once.

"Remus?" she asked.

"Dora," he said absently. Mad-Eye limped out, leaving them alone. Tonks muttered a hasty charm to dry her socks and sat down next to him on the couch.

"Wotcher. What's wrong?" she asked.

"Quite a bit," he said grimly. "I need to tell you something."

"Well?" she asked after a pause.

"I'm sorry for disrupting your evening," he said in a very small voice. He looked so miserable that she had to smile a little.

"It's fine," she said. "But I guessing there's more to it than that. So what's going on?"

"Oh Merlin," he muttered. "Well, you know how Matt's a werewolf?"

"Yes," she hedged. "Is he all right?"

"No. But I have to tell you something about myself first."

"Are you a vampire?" she asked.

"What? No," he said, shaking his head. She flushed.

"Sorry, stupid question," she muttered. "I just thought you were about to confess to being a magical creature- Never mind."

"I am," he said, still sounding off. "I'm a magical creature. I'm a... er..." He muttered the last word.

"Speak up," she said, frowning. "I missed that." He groaned and buried his face in his hands. He inhaled noisily.

"I am a werewolf," he said finally. And there it was again; fear, and defiance. It was an odd mix, and suddenly it occurred to her that Remus – Remus, who'd been so sure of his morals that he was prepared to die for them in the war, and Remus, who seemed so quietly confident in the way he led his search team – was afraid of her. Or, afraid of what she'd think.

"My," she said, pressing her hands to her chest, and allowing her hair to grow several inches and turn a bright tomato red. "What big eyes you have, grandmother." Remus stared at her. "And what big ears you have," she prompted. "No? Big teeth? What if Mad-Eye comes in, wielding an axe?"

"What?" he managed to say.

"Little Red Riding Hood," Tonks said. "It's a muggle-"

"I know what it is," he said, still staring at her. "I just can't believe you've said it."

"I was a big fan of muggle fairytales," she admitted. "I always wanted to be a princess – is that odd? A princess or an Auror... odd combination, I suppose, but it made sense to me... not that Little Red Riding Hood's a princess, but-"

"How can you be taking this so well?" Remus demanded. She frowned.

"Did you expect me to take it badly?" she asked.

"Yes!"

"Really? Why?" She laughed, but she was a little hurt that he'd thought that. "Do I seem like the type to judge you for something like that?"

"No," he muttered. "I suppose not." He laughed a little shakily. "Sorry."

"You should be," she said. "But I forgive you." He smiled gratefully. "So how long have you been a werewolf?"

"I was four when Greyback bit me," he said, a little tersely. Since Remus was about Sirius' age – roughly thirty, Tonks thought – that meant he'd been a werewolf for twenty six-years. "Twenty-five years," he added.

_Twenty-nine_, _then,_ she amended.

"Huh," she said. And then something else clicked. "So that's why you've been sick so much?" He grimaced and nodded. "Why didn't you say anything before?"

"Why do you think?" he asked, rubbing his temples. "I'm a monster-"

"Rubbish," she said flatly. "I did some reading when I found out that I'd be helping Mad-Eye with the Greyback case and as far as I can tell, you're no more dangerous than any other human when you're not in wolf form."

"We have better senses," Remus protested. "That's a tactical advantage-"

"Sure it is," she said. "But none of those are actually going to cause any damage on their own."

"Our bites-"

"Haven't been proven to transmit lycanthropy when you're in human form," she said. Remus' eyes narrowed.

"You really did read," he said.

"Of course I did. Good thing too, or you might have been successful in planting those few seeds of doubt... I don't get it; do you want me to be afraid of you?"

"I want you to understand the extent of my condition," he said. "So many people treat it like a joke-"

"But do you want me to be afraid of you?"

"Of course not!" he said. "But if you were, I'd understand completely."

"Well," she said, dropping her eyes, "there's one thing I'm a little bit worried about."

"What?" Remus asked. His expression was unreadable.

She glanced up with a pig-snout nose and said, "I'm afraid you'll huff and puff and blow my house down."

"Very funny," Remus said irritably, while she laughed.

"It was a good one," she insisted, clutching her sides. He smiled reluctantly and then she forced herself to be serious. "Now that you've told me that, what's wrong with Matt?" Remus' slight smile slipped right off of his face and he leaned back into the couch.

"You know about Greyback's camp?" he asked wearily.

"So it does exist?" Tonks asked. Remus gave her an odd look. "I thought it might have been a myth," she said defensively. "It sounds surreal."

"It exists," he assured her. "And surreal is a very good word for the things that happen there."

"You've been?" she asked.

"I have."

"So you know where to find Greyback-"

"Dora," Remus said. "I'm not giving you that information. Mad-Eye asked me the same thing when he was assigned the Greyback case, and again when Matt was attacked. If I thought more harm than good could come of it, I'd give him up in a heartbeat, but it's not worth it."

"Fine," she said, deflating.

"Matt's at the camp," he said.

"_What?_" she asked. "After Greyback nearly killed him?! What's he thinking?!"

"I doubt he had much say in it at all, to be honest. Generally we go after Christmas and stay until Febraury, which keeps Greyback happy but he's obviously feeling threatened by Matt at the moment – Merlin knows why - and wants him somewhere he can keep him in submission. And obviously he'd worried enough that he's forced him to be there a week early-"

"So we'll steal him back. You know where to find him, and-"

"And then what?" Remus sighed. She wondered if he'd already considered it and had to admit that he probably had. "Hide him? Greyback would find him eventually and he does _not _take defiance well."

"So you're leaving him there?"

Remus muttered something about Hufflepuff and then, more loudly, said, "No. I'm going early too, to make sure things are under control. Hopefully that upsets Greyback enough to keep him at the camp for the entire time we're both there and that'll reduce his victims, at least in the short term."

"But... what about the search?" Tonks asked. Remus laughed humourlessly.

"Funny you should ask. I bumped into Malfoy this afternoon-"

"Of course you did," she groaned. "Did he ask where I was?"

"No, actually."

"Probably assumed I was sick of your company," she said, grinning. He smiled. "Hang on. He knows about you being a werewolf, doesn't he?" Remus nodded stiffly. "_That's_ why he doesn't like you." Remus nodded again.

"And speaking of Malfoy, he's decided to investigate everyone involved in the search."

"When?" Tonks asked, resigned.

"I'm supposed to start tomorrow morning," Remus sighed.

"Tomorrow?" Tonks asked, pulling her knees up to her chest. "But I thought you were going to go after Matt- Oh."

"You're supposed to take over my job," he said. "I'm sure Malfoy will get around to telling you eventually, but maybe now you can prepare for it."

"And then I'll stay in the position, won't I?" she asked. Remus nodded, his expression unreadable. She felt another stab of guilt for taking his job. "I'm really-"

"Don't worry about it."

"How-?"

"I could smell it," he said.

"Oh." Several other little things about his condition clicked into place, but she ignored them for the time being. "So what are you going to do about tomorrow? You can't risk Matt, but if you leave now it'll look like-"

"I'm running. Exactly. You see my problem... and Matt's, really, because it's going to look like he's run from the investigation too." Tonks pulled a loose thread out of her sock.

"What a mess," she sighed.

"I'm going to try to talk Greyback into having a word with Malfoy," Remus said. "I don't know how much it'll help but it's worth a try-"

"Do you think that'll work," Tonks asked doubtfully. "Malfoy sort of has it in for you..."

"I'd noticed," Remus muttered. He gave a tense laugh and ran his hands through his hair.

"Maybe you could- never mind. You can't really put it off, can you?"

"Not initially. Possibly the day after next but until I know what shape Matt's in..."

"You have to go," she said. He nodded, looking unhappy. "If only there were two of you... maybe I could be you..." she suggested, her eyes brightening.

"I had thought of that," Remus admitted. "But I'm not asking that of you. You're already living two lives and it's too much-"

"The alternative is you being arrested for conspiring with Sirius," she argued. "It's not ideal, but I could manage-"

"No," he said gently, but with iron resolve. "What I need you to do is pretend to be revolted that I'm a werewolf and tell Malfoy that Matt and I have gone to stay at Greyback's camp for an undetermined period of time." Tonks pursed her lips; there were so many ways that could go wrong.

"When are you leaving?" she asked.

"As soon as you get sick of me and go home," he said, gesturing to the table, which had a battered suitcase leaning against it. "I've already told everyone who needs to know what's going on, but if you could keep an eye on Debbie for me-"

"Debbie? Why-?" Something clicked in her head. "Is she...?"

"You'd have found out after Christmas anyway," Remus muttered. "Yes. I've convinced her to stay for the time being, but once I can be certain that the situation at the camp is under control then she'll join us there."

"If it wasn't for Malfoy's stupid investigation, it would have just looked like they followed you out of the search," Tonks growled. Then she glanced up at Remus. "I suppose I should look for more people to help me, shouldn't I?"

"People to help Tock," Remus reminded her. "But yes, since you're about to lose half of the team..."

"Right," she said, beginning a mental list of people who might be interested.

"Sorry," he said again.

"It's nothing," she said, giving him a small smile to prove she meant it. "So when do you want me to see Malfoy?"

"I was supposed to meet him at eight in the Leaky Cauldron," Remus said. "If you could be there around that time, then perhaps you could explain that Matt and I have gone, and then he'll promote you and complain that I'm not there." She nodded. "If I'm asking too much, let me know," Remus said suddenly. "It's not too late to make other arrangements-"

"Remus, it's fine," she said, rolling her eyes. "I can deal with things here. You make sure that Matt's all right."

"Thank you," he said weakly. "I'm sorry to have to ask this of you-"

"Don't worry about it."

"If you need to contact me, Strix can find me," he said, stretching as he stood.

"Strix?" she asked.

"My owl." He reached for his suitcase and it suddenly occurred to Tonks how exhausted he looked. She wondered if he was just worried, or if the full moon was coming. "He'll be at my cottage in case Debbie needs him and you'll be able to get in through the kitchen window, because I'm leaving that open so Strix can hunt... I know you're not averse to breaking in..." She grinned sheepishly. "You could probably just Floo in, if that's easier, but-"

"Remus!" she interrupted, rolling her eyes. "Go, before I take you myself." He smiled and surprised her by giving her a quick hug.

"I'm so sorry that it's come to this, Dora," he said, letting her go. "And thank you so much, for everything you're doing-"

"Remus," she said. "_Go_."

"I'm going," he said, shrinking his suitcase. He stuffed it into the pocket of his jeans and went to say goodbye and thank you to Mad-Eye.

Once he was gone, Tonks joined Mad-Eye, who was having a Firewhiskey in the kitchen - she had a cup of tea instead – and explained everything.

"I thought he'd tell you eventually," Mad-Eye muttered.

"About him being a werewolf?"

"Mmm. I'm sure he's told you that I taught him during the war – not as an Auror, just as a fighter." She nodded. "There were others, too, and he refused to let them trust him until they knew. Most took it pretty well, I remember, but there were one or two who looked like they might cause trouble, at least until Potter and Black sat them down. Or Evans... that girl was formidable."

"Evans?" Tonks asked.

"Well, Potter to everyone else, but she was Evans when I met her-" Mad-Eye stiffened and reached into one of his coat pockets. His Sidekick emerged and he growled the pass phrase to open it. "Scrimgeour," he growled. "What do you want?"

"I'm going to go," Tonks whispered, as Scrimgeour began to list a number of activities he had planned for the next few training sessions. Usually, she might have been intrigued enough to stay and listen but tonight she was tired and worried for Remus and Matt.

"Hang on," Mad Eye said, and Scrimgeour sighed and fell quiet. "Do you need me to take you home, Nymphadora?"

"Don't call me that," she muttered. "And no, thanks. I can find my way."

"I'll be watching for you to get there," he said, tapping his Sidekick.

_Damn, _she thought.

"All right," she said. Mad-Eye nodded at her and she slipped out of the kitchen.

"Are you able to talk now?" Scrimgeour asked, sounding peevish.

"As a matter of fact, I am," Mad-Eye said. Tonks could almost hear Scrimgeour's eye-roll as she left the house and hoped that their bickering would last for a few more minutes.

Hopefully, that was all she'd need.


	34. Taking Risks

"I'm a terrible person for doing this," Tonks muttered as she squeezed through Remus' kitchen window. The owl on the perch above the sink – Strix, presumably – ruffled its feathers and shuffled over as she toppled through. It hooted as she knocked a plate off of the dish-rack. Remus really had left in a hurry if he'd left it full. "Damn it," she muttered; she'd stepped on one of the shards in the dark and it had stabbed her through her sock.

She fixed the plate with a muttered, "_Reparo_." It was a spell she'd known since she was five and had been using since she got her wand; before that, she'd had to steal Mum's or borrow Dad's. She put the plate back with the others and then headed toward the hallway, only to notice that her sock now felt rather sticky.

She lit her wand to inspect the damage and found that she had a decent cut on the bottom of her foot; the plate had gone right through her sock. Sighing, she grew another layer of skin over her foot, vanished the blood and fixed her sock. Figuring it was stupid to put out her wand – since she'd probably walk into one of the couches or something – she left it lit. No one but her – and Strix, she supposed – was home, and there wasn't anything to gain by trying to find her way around in the dark.

_So much for being sneaky_, she though with a sigh. _Oh well..._

She moved across the sitting area and into the hallway, headed for the door at the end of the corridor.

* * *

Remus Apparated to his usual point in Gwydir forest. The forest itself looked as it usually did this time of year; white, with green leaves peeking out from under the snow. A dark shape – another werewolf, Remus assumed, because he could hear a beating heart and no one else would be moving around in this area at this time – emerged from the trees and came toward him. He stood perfectly still as the other person approached. There was a noisy sniff and Remus felt warm breath on his face.

He could have lit his wand, but drawing a wand was something to be done with caution around the camp; some werewolves didn't take it well. Instead, he waited for his eyes to adjust, which didn't take long, and once they had, he had reasonably good vision.

Up close, the other person – a man – was recognisable. He was large and bald and only had one eye because he'd lost the other one in a fight with Greyback years ago, earning him the nickname 'Cyclops'. No one – Remus included – knew his real name, but it was a poorly-kept secret that he was from a pureblood family. Remus made a mental note to ask Sirius about purebloods fitting the description because Sirius had been to enough functions as a boy that he'd probably be able to identify him.

Then, Remus had the depressing revelation that it was going to be a very long time before he saw either Sirius or Harry again.

"Sad to be back?" Cyclops asked.

"Does it show?" Remus said, wryly.

"A bit," Cyclops replied. The right side of his face was too scarred to move properly but the left side became a grin. "How've you been, Lupin?"

"Not too bad," Remus said politely. "You?"

"The same," he said, shrugging. Remus smiled.

"May I?"

"Better you than me. I'll see you in a month or two, I suppose." Cyclops never actually ventured into the camp. He was one of five sentries and the only one to patrol full time. He slept in strange little shelters he'd built in or under trees and either hunted or foraged for his own food or had it brought to him by one of the women in the pack.

"I'll visit, I'm sure," Remus said. "I always seem to." He could only take so much of the main building. Last time they'd been here, he and Matt had borrowed one of Cyclops' shelters for a few nights, after being unable to spend another moment in the main building.

Cyclops smiled and waved him on his way. Remus carefully picked his way through the trees, relying on his sense of smell more than his eyes because the forest looked the same. About a minute after leaving Cyclops, Remus started to see the first cottages and another minute after that, the main building appeared out of the night.

It was a monstrous, rectangular building, at least ten times the size of Remus' cottage – probably more – but despite that, there was only a single, small door.

The werewolf guarding it – an older woman that Remus had seen before but never met – looked up as he approached, sniffed, and then nodded and let him pass. Remus turned the doorknob and stepped inside. He patted his pocket to ensure his suitcase was still there but it was probably too late to go back even if it wasn't.

The door opened into a large hall. Four long tables with benches – like those in the Great Hall at Hogwarts, only these had people of all ages sitting in them and not just students – took up most of the floor, but the middle two benches had been shortened to make room for an enormous, throne-like chair. In that chair sat Greyback, whose head snapped up as Remus walked in.

"Remus," he said, baring his teeth in a very poor imitation of a smile. "I've been expecting you for hours now."

"Sorry to keep you waiting, Fenrir," Remus said. Some of the people at the tables started whispering; most of them called Greyback 'sir' or 'father'. Fenrir probably seemed disrespectful compared to that. Remus was glad; he didn't want anyone mistaking it for familiarity instead of simple rudeness. "My departure wasn't expected so I had a few things that needed to be sorted out first, as you can doubtless appreciate."

"Of course," Greyback said. "I'm nothing if not understanding."

"Of course," Remus said, arching an eyebrow. He opened his mouth to ask where Matt was – he couldn't see him amongst the people at the tables – and then thought better of asking in front of an audience.

"Your room's ready for you, just so you know," Greyback continued, sweeping a hand over to the left side of the room. There were no walls inside the main building; there were only a continuous line of doorways, so close together that the right-side frame of one was the left-side frame of the one next to it. Through them, were partially visible bedrooms. While each room only appeared to be a few feet wide and a few feet deep, they'd been magically enlarged so that even the smallest bedroom had a bed, dresser, table and a small bathroom containing a shower, toilet and sink.

Each doorway had a small, numbered plaque above it. Remus' was 37 because he was the thirty-seventh person that Greyback had bitten.

"Why don't you put your things away and join the rest of us?" Greyback said.

Remus knew when to be rude and when to do what he was told. This was a time to listen. The people at the tables watched him as he walked to his room and continued to watch - through the doorway – when he was inside. He pulled his suitcase out of his pocket, resized it and put it on one of the two chairs he had at his little table. He wished, fervently, for a door, but knew that was never going to happen.

Once, years ago, he'd pointed out that privacy was a basic human right, and Greyback had countered – not entirely incorrectly – that they weren't actually human and then had wanted to know what it was Remus was trying to hide from his pack. Remus hadn't breached the subject since and was still door-less. Even the bathroom lacked a door; there was a curtain instead.

Remus took one last, resigned look at the room before returning to the hall.

"All settled in?" Greyback asked.

_No._ Remus nodded.

"It's been a long time since you were here," Greyback said. "How about a tour to help you get your bearings again." It wasn't a question so Remus shrugged. He waited for Greyback to call one of his 'children' over but Greyback himself stood and stretched, drawing everyone's attention. Several even stood, as if to protect him. "We won't be long," Greyback assured them all. "Come, Remus." Remus followed him out through the single door and into the snowy night.

Greyback made straight for the trees and kept walking until they were out past the boundaries of the camp; they'd passed one of the sentries on the way. Remus looked around to see if Matt was being kept on the outskirts as some sort of punishment but couldn't see anything to suggest that that was true.

"Now," Greyback said in a very nasty voice. "We need to talk."

"About?" Remus asked, leaning back against a tree.

"You and your little pets," he snapped. "You've got two now - that I know of - and I don't like it. The Rosier boy was supposed to be mine-"

"I don't claim ownership," Remus said, folding his arms.

"But you have it!" Greyback shoved him. Remus winced as a knobbly piece of bark poked him in the back and made a show of smoothing his jumper because he knew it would annoy Greyback. "I had to go and find Debbie – although I'm sure you already know that – instead of having her seek me out! You're interrupting the natural process!"

"So I wasn't supposed to help her adjust?" Greyback opened his mouth and closed it. "And how was a muggle supposed to find you?" Greyback gave him a stony look. "And, I thought you liked it when your vic-" Greyback swelled at the word. "Er... _Gifted_ lived through their first full moon." Greyback's face twisted. "Without my help, Debbie wouldn't have," Remus said tersely. "She tore herself to pieces on her first night and I had to use every bit of healing knowledge I possess to save her in the morning."

"She should have been here."

"Perhaps," Remus said neutrally. "But she wasn't. You, on the other hand, were. Why weren't _you_ with her? Surely, as the father, you owed it to your newest child to be there when she needed you the most-"

"I had the rest of the pack-"

"None of whom were in any danger without you here," Remus said flatly. "If Debbie looks to me for guidance, instead of you, then it's probably because I did guide her. You didn't, but you could have. That's your problem, not mine, as far as I'm concerned." Greyback's hand was around Remus' throat in an instant. Remus could see a long scar on the back of his hand and wondered if that was there from when Dora had saved Matt. He hoped so.

"I am your Alpha-"

"Then why should it matter if people follow me?" Remus asked politely. "I follow you, don't I?"

"Do you?" Greyback snarled.

"Is my undying loyalty not appare-" Remus said sarcastically but was cut off by increased pressure on his throat.

"Things are going to change," Greyback growled. "I've put up with your rubbish for years and my patience has run out. You'll call me 'sir' or 'father', just like your brothers and sisters do. You'll do what I say, when I say, and you won't challenge it."

"And if I do?"

"You're only useful to me if you're loyal to me," Greyback said in the same nasty voice he'd used earlier. "If you're not, then you're just taking up space and being a bad influence for your brothers and sisters." He squeezed until Remus couldn't breathe.

Remus – who'd had enough, pulled his wand out of his pocket and thought, _Depulso_.

Greyback soared off him and landed in a pile of snow. He was back on his feet in an instant, but didn't come any closer; he stared warily at Remus' wand, which was still out. He either didn't have his own with him, or wasn't confident about being better of faster in a duel than Remus was.

"Why don't you stop with the threats and strangulation and just tell me what you want?" Remus said, leaning back against the tree.

Greyback looked murderous but said, "You're threatening my leadership."

"You think I want to challenge you?" Remus asked, incredulously. Greyback snarled. "I assure you I don't."

"You've collected two of my pack!"

"And collecting them, as you so distastefully put it, took me eight years," Remus pointed out. "I have no intention of trying to challenge you, but _if_ I did, it would take me another _eighty_ years to have enough people to make it worth the effort. And in another eighty years, it's highly probable that you'll be dead and I'll be too old to care. So-"

"So you've thought about it?" Greyback snarled.

"Of course I have," Remus said. "It's no secret that I don't approve of what you're doing here, Greyback. I considered overthrowing you in the Christmas of nineteen eighty one." That had been a dark time in Remus' life. "I was going to kill you and then come and live out here so that I could dedicate my otherwise meaningless life to the rehabilitation of the children you bite." Greyback smelled furious. Remus didn't entirely blame him; he'd just admitted to wanting to murder him.

"Then, of course," Remus continued, "I had some sense smacked into me – both figuratively and literally." McGonagall had slapped him for thinking such a thing, and then held him while he choked out all of his half-formed plans to rule the pack, or break into Azkaban and kill Sirius himself, or learn Necromancy so that he could bring Lily and James and Peter back, or steal Harry back from his aunt and uncle. She and Dumbledore had talked some sense back into him and he'd snapped out of his grief-prompted madness. "I have not had any intention of overthrowing you since then, I promise."

And that was true. As much as he thought most of Greyback's victims would be better off away from the camp and Greyback, he knew they'd struggle; most of them had been raised by Greyback, and the older werewolves in a pack environment. They'd have no idea how to live in the real world and while a large part of Remus wanted to help anyway, he knew, realistically, that he didn't have the space, time or money to help them all. They'd end up a lot worse off than they were now if he tried. Greyback, of course, wouldn't like that sort of logic, so Remus couldn't say it.

"I'll take your word for it," Greyback spat, still seething. "But if you put as much as a paw out of line - if you challenge me _once, _or do something I don't like - then I'll destroy you, and your little pets." He bared his teeth. "You got that?"

"I've got it, yes," Remus said with a shiver that was only partially due to the cold. "Can I see Matt, now?"

"Of course," Greyback said, his teeth still glinting in the dark. "Any suspicious behaviour, remember. I won't hesitate. Can't afford to."

"I heard you the first time," Remus said, pocketing his wand. He approached Greyback slowly but Greyback let him pass. "And I think it's safe to say that there's nothing suspicious about concern for my friend. So... Matt."

* * *

It was Harry and Padfoot's third trip to Wolple's; they'd been once, earlier in the week to pick up a book that might help them destroy the Horcrux. Unfortunately, it hadn't, and Padfoot had tried everything and so they were back again.

"...the object with you?" Keira asked.

"No," Padfoot sighed. "I just need-"

"I can't help you much if all you tell me is 'beyond magical repair'," she said throwing her hands up in the air. Harry didn't think she was truly angry – he thought she was enjoying the challenge – but she was certainly frustrated. "At least tell me what it is."

"We can't," Harry said, drawing her dark gaze.

"And why not?" she asked coolly.

"Look," Padfoot said, tersely, "we just need to know how to damage something so badly that no amount of help – muggle or magical – can fix it." Then he seemed to realise he was being abrupt and grinned. "Is that so hard?"

"Yes," Keira said.

"It was a- Never mind." She didn't have much of a sense of humour, Harry was beginning to notice. It seemed Padfoot had noticed too. "Can you think of any books that might help us with that?"

Personally, Harry thought they should just go with Remus' idea, which was to let him bite it on a full moon; there was no cure for lycanthropy. Padfoot, though – and also Remus to a degree – had wanted to look for a less unpredictable solution, since there had been no studies on the effects of a werewolf bite on non-living objects.

When they'd mentioned that, Harry had immediately imagined the locket sprouting fur and fangs and trying to bite them all, and that had made him wary, but impatience was soothing that worry. Padfoot also, for some reason, wanted a solution that would allow Harry to destroy the Horcrux.

Keira was silent for a moment and then glided over to a shelf. _Irreversible Incantations _and _Everlasting Enchantments_ were in her skeletal hand when she returned.

"Something like these?" she asked, offering them a book each. Padfoot flicked through _Everlasting Enchantments_ and then passed it back and shook his head.

"We need something destructive, not a permanent anti-rust charm, or a spell that ties a knot that can't be undone."

"If you would _just_ _tell me what_-" Keira said and then cut off as another customer entered the shop. Madam Wolpole shuffled over to the woman, who was tall and blond and Keira lowered her voice before continuing. "If you could just tell me what you're looking for, then I could be more helpful."

"It's dark," Padfoot whispered back. "A very evil object that we want to get rid of. That's as much as I can tell you."

"Is it an object, or is it living?" Keira asked, brushing her long hair over one shoulder.

Harry exchanged a look with Padfoot. Padfoot still had dark hair and grey eyes but he was wearing a pair of rectangular glasses, his eyebrows were thicker than usual and his hair stuck up a bit like Harry's – though not nearly as badly - instead of being shaggy, like usual. He also had a moustache. It was still Padfoot, though, and they were able to communicate wordlessly almost as easily as usual.

"Hard to say," Harry said finally.

"It either is or it isn't," Keira said. Harry and Padfoot exchanged another look. Then she sighed. "Magically irreparable... dark magic – and I mean _dark_, not a cutting charm or the Imperius Curse – could work. Otherwise, some sort of magical creature is probably your best chance. Dragon's fire might do it, or a basilisk's venom, or perhaps a werewolf bite, although none of those are things you'd have access to."

_You'd be surprised_, Harry thought, hiding a smile. Padfoot still looked uncertain. Keira's eyes widened slightly.

"I've just thought of something. Does your mysterious object have ears?"

"What? No," Padfoot said, while Harry said a quiet by firm, "Yes."

"Which is it?" Keira asked, frowning.

"Yes," Harry said. Padfoot had never spoken to the locket, but Harry had. He wouldn't forget that in a hurry.

"It doesn't have ears," Padfoot muttered.

"No, but it can hear," Harry argued.

"Then perhaps I could help you," Keira said, with a somewhat predatory smile. "Or one of those awful plants... Mandrakes, they're called."

"Awful? They're supposed to be useful," Padfoot said, frowning.

"Oh very," Keira said, suddenly looked menacing. "For killing banshees. If you want one of those then I will not help you." Her expression lightened somewhat. "If you want my help, however, that could be arranged." Her usual, small smile made an appearance.

"You'd... what, scream at it?" Padfoot asked, and then chuckled.

"If it would help," she said, shrugging.

"Excuse me," a soft voice said. Harry moved out of the way of the blond woman that had entered earlier. She cleared her throat and Padfoot, who'd been staring at her, jumped.

"Sorry, Ciss- miss. Sorry," he said, moving to stand beside Harry and Keira. She gave him a cool look and pulled down two books, titled _Sword And Sorting Hat_, and _Golden Children_. She gave them all a haughty look – Harry supposed it wasn't underserved, since Padfoot was gawking at her and both he and Keira were staring at her trying to work out what it was about her that had worried Padfoot – and made her way back to the counter.

"She's my cousin," Padfoot whispered, one she was out of earshot. "Narcissa. Married to Malfoy," he added, with a significant look at Harry. Harry pulled a face.

"So?" Keira asked impatiently. "Will you require my help?"

"I don't know," Padfoot said slowly. "We might have to open it first, and it's only opened once. Maybe if we lock you in a room with it again, kiddo," he added, nudging Harry, "then we've got half a chance..."

"How would we keep it open, though?" Harry asked. "It closed on its own, last time, and we couldn't be there while you were with it, Keira-"

"It seems you have some things to work out first," she said, smiling. "But know that you may accept my offer at any time."

"Thanks," Harry said. Padfoot nodded.

"Is there anything else I can help you with?" she asked, cocking her head to her side.

"Yes," Padfoot said. "I've got a friend who's in grave need of reading material." Keira smiled again.

"Did you have anything in mind?"

* * *

A few hags leered at her but Narcissa's glare kept them from coming any closer. Her face was usually enough to keep them away – everyone in Knockturn Alley knew who she was and not to bother her – but she'd changed her face and robes the moment she left Wolpole's. She was now short, with red hair, brown eyes and as many freckles as there were Weasleys.

She knew it was Sirius in the bookshop, and that the man he was with was probably Harry Potter in disguise. She hadn't recognised Sirius by sight, but the moment he'd laughed that bark-like laugh, she'd known; he was her cousin, and while they'd never been close, they'd spent a lot of time together at family events, and then – once they were older - at school.

She wondered what it was they'd been discussing so intently with the banshee. Sirius always had attracted the strangest friends; first Lupin, then the mudblood that married Potter, and now this woman.

Sirius and the Potter boy left five minutes after she did. Sirius had a bulky package tucked under one arm and was talking in a low voice to the Potter boy. Narcissa, unfortunately, couldn't hear what was being said, but the Potter boy smiled and nodded. She walked after them, at a distance, content to watch. This time.

Lucius would probably be furious – in fact, he would be beyond furious, considering he was currently having a meeting about his search with Lupin in the Leaky Cauldron – but that was too bad. Narcissa had her own agenda this morning.

The pair ducked into a dim sidestreet and Narcissa waited for the sound of Apparition but none came. Sirius emerged again, but the man he'd been with was gone. In his place was a blond boy, with eyes the same green as Evans' had been; Narcissa had been horribly jealous of the mudblood's eyes all through her schooling.

_Yes,_ she thought, watching as he hurried after Sirius. _It's definitely the Potter boy._

Sirius and Potter left Knockturn Alley and she left after them, curious. She was curious about Sirius, who – though he wasn't wearing his own face - looked remarkably healthy and cheerful for a man who'd only been out of Azkaban for ten months. She was slightly more interested in Potter, however. There were so many rumours surrounding him that she wanted the chance to see whether they were true or not.

She knew, after five minutes of following him that Severus had been correct; he was no Dark Lord. Dark Lords didn't chat happily with their godfathers, or laugh or smile as much as he did. And, while Potter seemed comfortable around magic and had a wand sticking out of his back pocket, he didn't seem overly powerful. Certainly not powerful enough to have destroyed the Dark Lord as a baby.

She did notice that he was reasonably mature – grudgingly, she had to admit that he was more mature than either of her children; when he and Sirius went to the Apothecary, he took charge and directed Sirius to various displays but wasn't bossy about it the way Hydrus and Draco would have been.

The ingredients were none that went together in any potion that she recognised, but then, she'd always been terrible at Potions. He'd also paid for everything they bought there, which she thought was odd. Perhaps Sirius didn't have any money. She'd assumed he would have had access to the Black vault, but maybe they were using James Potter's vault instead.

After the visit to the Apothecary, they made a quick trip to the Magical Menagerie; they bought owl treats and she followed them in under the pretence of buying treats for the boys' rats.

She lost them outside, sadly, and took a guess about which direction they might have gone. It turned out to be a very good one; she spotted Sirius again, waiting outside a small Honeydukes shop which only sold chocolate; the Honeydukes sweets weren't quite as popular in Diagon Alley due to competition from Sugarplum's Sweets. Potter, however, was nowhere in sight.

Naricissa hesitated for a moment and then slipped past Sirius and into the shop. It was busy - Christmas was only a few days away so people were buying last minute presents – but it was a small shop and there were only two blonds in the room. One was an older man and the other was Potter. He was clutching several slabs of chocolate and sampling some of the squares the store offered in little bowls on the shelves.

It occurred to her suddenly, how easy it would be to simply reach out and take him. Before he could even protest, they'd be far away and there was very little anyone would be able to do about it, Potter or Sirius included. She and Lucius could raise Potter as their own – claim he was a relative of hers – and ensure he got into Slytherin. Draco wouldn't need to spy, and if or when the Dark Lord returned, he could decide whether he wanted Potter dead, or serving him.

But what if the Dark Lord did want him dead? She and the boys – and possibly even Lucius – would grow attached to him. Could they sentence him to death, just like that? Would they risk their own lives for him, or try to protect him? Would the Dark Lord then brand them as traitors and kill them too? Or would the Ministry find him with them, and convict her and Lucius for helping Sirius? Would Sirius find him first, as he had at St Mungo's, and steal him back? And, would he be content with just having Potter back again, or would he take revenge on them?

Or, should she just leave him to Sirius? Just let him become a Gryffindor, as Severus predicted, and have Draco join him there? Should she let Draco lose all of his old friends, and possibly even his brother upon his arrival at Hogwarts in order to befriend Harry Potter? He'd gain some useful skills from Severus, but was the cost worth it?

Draco would learn to lie and spy and shield his thoughts. She'd never know if he was being honest with her or not. She'd never be completely sure which side he'd picked. She'd lose him to the Dark Lord, or she'd lose him to Harry Potter; she'd accepted that as a possibility, even if Lucius hadn't. That was why she'd asked for Severus' help in the first place, so that if he did befriend Potter, Draco would be able to hide it. But was that worth-

"Oops," said a young voice. Potter was holding two festively wrapped packages – presumably the chocolate –and was staring up at her apologetically. "Sorry."

"It's all right," she said coolly, brushing off her robes. Potter looked so guilty that she gave in and offered him a very small smile. He offered her a shy smile in return and said a polite goodbye. Again, she was grudgingly forced to admit that he was a lot kinder than her sons would have been.

He dodged her and ran out to rejoin Sirius, who ruffled his hair and took the packages with an expression of distaste. It was an expression she knew, even on the unfamiliar face; it was the same one that Sirius had worn permanently through functions, and when he'd been presented with a plate of fairy-egg olives. She wondered when he'd stopped liking chocolate.

Potter laughed – presumably at the expression on Sirius' face – and - as she watched through the shop window - continued to smile as he and Sirius set off down the street again.

She watched Potter's smile with longing; her sons wore similar expressions, but none were quite the same; they smirked, or smiled but they never _grinned._ They never looked so relaxed or happy for the sake of being happy. It was something she'd been told never to do, because it wasn't proper, and it was the same thing that she and Lucius had told Hydrus and Draco. But it was the way Sirius had looked with his friends as a child, and the way Andy had looked with Ted – carefree and happy.

She wanted that for Draco and her chest warmed a little. It was worth it. Harry Potter would be in Gryffindor and so would Draco. And then, with the skills that he'd learn from Severus, Draco would have the ability to pick his own side and conceal the truth from the side he didn't pick. And he could be happy - Harry Potter was lying to the rest of the world by going out in disguise but he seemed happy enough – because he would have made the choice for himself.

Lucius and Hydrus would believe Draco was a Gryffindor who served the Dark Lord, and that was all. If Draco sided with Potter, they'd never know; she hadn't told either of them about Draco's lessons with Severus and neither had Draco or Severus, so they wouldn't know that he could lie well. She'd know better, but if Draco was happy then she could deal with whichever side he picked.

Besides, by the time Draco had to make a decision, he'd have enough of Severus' skills that he'd be able to look her in the face and lie. She wouldn't know any more or less than he told her and – while she'd never believed it herself – she'd been told that ignorance was bliss. Just this once, she hoped it could be.

"Can I help you, Madam?" a witch with the Honeydukes emblem on her robes asked.

"Oh," Narcissa said. "Yes, thank you." She chose two blocks of chocolate; one with silver wrapping, one with gold wrapping and a large block of Honeydukes' finest. Then, as an afterthought she also selected a small box of assorted chocolates. "These." She paid and the witch wrapped them for her and waved her from the shop.

On her way to meet Lucius – who was probably waiting for her – she spied Sirius and Potter again, reading the price sign at Fortescue's. She hesitated for a moment, and then reversed the charms on her appearance. One little girl gaped at her and tugged on her mother's sleeve, but no one else had noticed.

She strode directly up behind Potter and Sirius and cleared her throat. Potter looked up curiously, while Sirius turned around slowly. She knew he must have recognised her but he didn't show it.

"Can I help you?" he asked, frowning slightly.

"I assume you're the boy's guardian?" she asked. Sirius inclined his head. "I suggest you keep him closer. Letting him go alone into shops is risky. Anyone could take him."

_I nearly did._

"I see," Sirius said. "Was that all?"

"Yes." She turned and started to walk away, but then she stopped and called over her shoulder. "With Black still loose, no child's safe. I'd hate to see him taken."

She waited for a witty retort; as much as she'd loathed it – because they were usually directed at her – she'd always admired Sirius' quick wit. When none was forthcoming, she turned around completely to see if he'd even heard her, but they'd vanished. She smiled, pleased to have rattled him; it wasn't something she'd ever been particularly good at. Bella had been much better.

She was also impressed that he'd taken the warning; it seemed he'd matured in Azkaban, or maybe it had been taking Potter that had done it. Once, he might have taken the risk of staying.

She still had a small smile on her face when she met Lucius, who was looking irritated.

"Where have you been?" he asked. She raised an eyebrow.

"Hello to you too," she said. Lucius glowered at her. Narcissa waited.

"Sorry," Lucius said finally, and kissed her forehead. He gestured to the packages in her arms. "What have you bought?"

"Books and rat treats. And chocolate," she said. "One for the boys and one for Bella."

"You have four Honeydukes packages," Lucius noted.

"I thought maybe I'd send something to Andy this year," she said quietly.

"To the bloodtraitor?" Lucius asked, looking puzzled.

"Bloodtraitor seems to be a lesser crime now that we're turning our son into one," she said pointedly. "To me, at least." Lucius still looked blank. "How was your meeting?"

"Productive," he admitted. "Lupin was about as tolerable as it's possible for someone like him to be and I've got the details of each of his searchers so that I can arrange meetings with them. Here, let me." Lucius shrank the parcels and tucked them into a pocket of his robes. Then, he offered her his arm, which she took and they set off down the busy street. "What else did you do this morning?"

"I saw Sirius and the Potter boy," she said. Lucius stopped.

"You _what_?!" Narcissa tugged on his elbow to keep him walking. "Where are they? Why didn't you fetch me?"

"They left," she said, shrugging. "And I didn't fetch you because if I'd wanted to capture them, I'd have been able to do so alone." Or maybe not; Sirius had always been talented with a wand, but then, he'd always had a habit of underestimating her.

"You didn't-" Lucius shook his head. "Narcissa, you aren't making sense: why wouldn't you want them caught?"

"I was watching them," she said.

"Watching- You could have watched them when they were your prisoners! How could you just let them walk free?!" he hissed, stopping again. She knew he wouldn't understand her reasons so she just let him rant. "Has it escaped your attention that it's _our money_ funding the search?! What would people say if they heard about-?"

"Frankly, Lucius, if you're stupid enough to tell anyone then you deserve whatever people would say about you," she said. He just stared at her. "Now, did you want to get Hydrus the black robes or the emerald ones?"


	35. A Delicate Balance

"... gobstone, pawn, Merlin Chocolate Frog Card and..." Draco hesitated. "A rock?"

"Is that a question or a statement?" Severus asked.

"Statement?" Draco asked.

"It is a bezoar," Severus corrected. "But better. We'll use ten objects next time." Draco's face scrunched up, as if he was calling Severus rude names in his head. "Is that a problem?"

"No, sir," he muttered.

"Are you aware that you blink when you lie?" Severus asked, arching an eyebrow.

"It wasn't a lie," Draco muttered, very obviously trying not to blink this time. Severus didn't call him out on it, however; the more he practiced lying without blinking, the more natural it would become. As long as he didn't stop blinking altogether when he lied; that would be just as telling. Draco fidgeted. Severus imagined him fighting the urge to speak his mind – as he was being encouraged to do these days – and stay quiet – as he'd been raised to do his entire life. "What's the point of all of this?" Draco demanded, unable to stay quiet anymore.

"We're spending time together," Severus told him. He felt as excited about it as Draco looked.

"Why?" Draco asked, folding his arms.

"That's what godfathers do, apparently," Severus sneered, thinking of Black. Draco glared at him. "Say it, Draco." Draco got a strangely thoughtful look on his face, which darkened to a scowl.

"We never used to," he said.

"You are at a critical stage in your development," Severus said. "You have a lot to gain from my presence."

"Like what?" Draco asked sulkily. "The only skills you've got are to do with potions but you don't teach me any of that. All we do is play stupid memory games!"

"If you cannot remember five objects after ten seconds of looking at them, then how do you hope to follow potions instructions?" Severus asked. Draco didn't say anything. "I set the activities," Severus said in a tone of finality. "If I want to play 'stupid' memory games, then that is what we'll do."

"Can I at least bring Roquefort next time?" Draco asked.

"The only rats I allow in my quarters are dead ones for potions," Severus said flatly. Which was true, but he might have made an exception if he could be sure that it was Hydrus who had Pettigrew; he wasn't sure which boy had the real rat, and which had the man-in-disguise. The only ones who did were Pettigrew himself, Lucius and possibly Narcissa. There was no way that he'd risk letting Pettigrew into one of his and Draco's sessions.

"Fine, he'll stay home," Draco huffed, folding his arms.

"Good," Severus said. "I w-"

CRACK! Draco started and fell off his chair, while Severus hid his shock behind a calm mask. He also hid his irritation; he didn't like the fact that Lucius' house elf could access his quarters at any time.

"Young Master Draco," the thing squeaked, bowing deeply. "Professor Severus sir. Dobby is being sent by Mistress to fetch his young Master. Mistress is needing him to be ready for tonight, sir," he added, looking at Severus with enormous green eyes.

"Go," Severus told Draco, who looked torn between his forming loathing of time with Snape and the fact that it was Dobby who was offering him his escape. Dobby offered his thin arm and Draco took it.

The pair vanished and Severus leaned back in his chair and sighed.

* * *

_Lupin,_

_You've had time to settle into the new search and so, as discussed yesterday, I have recorded the names of those involved in the magical search and the dates you are to investigate each of them. Do something similar with those in your search party and send it to me as soon as possible._

_Lucius Malfoy._

"What?" Remus said aloud. The owl who'd delivered it gave him a haughty look and flew off.

Matt glanced over, looking puzzled and Remus shook his head. Matt went back to the card game he was playing with Greentooth – a twelve year old muggle girl who - in a fit of Dora-like stubbornness - refused to respond to Sarah, her real name. She'd supposedly developed an infatuation with Matt, though both Remus and Matt were reasonably sure she was spying on them for Greyback. She didn't know that they knew, however, which was entertaining on one level, but was still more irritating than anything else.

Remus read and re-read the letter but it still didn't make any sense; he and Malfoy hadn't spoken for almost a week and he certainly hadn't been searching since then.

_So Malfoy's made a mistake... Pretty big mistake to make, though... Maybe the letter wasn't meant for me... Although it's addressed to me. _He frowned thoughtfully. _But there wasn't an address on the envelope, just my name... which means I was definitely supposed to get it..._

_But he should also know that I'm away... and in this, it doesn't sound like he does... _Dora was supposed to have told him, but perhaps she hadn't... That wouldn't explain the letter, but it would be a start. He stood and Greentooth's head immediately snapped up.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"Out," Remus said, catching Greyback's eye; he was lounging in his throne. He, too, had looked over as soon as Remus stood and was watching with a frown.

"Where? Can I come?" Greentooth asked, looking eager.

"Maybe next time," Remus said. He held Greyback's gaze until Greyback nodded and tapped his wrist. Remus understood; he could go, but there'd be trouble if he was out for too long.

"You didn't say where," Greentooth whined.

"Got any rope?" Matt asked; he had formed half-serious plans to tie Greentooth to a tree somewhere and leave her there. Remus was ashamed to admit that the idea was getting more and more tempting.

"No," Remus said, answering both of them at once. Matt and Greentooth assumed unnervingly similar, disappointed expressions. "Will you be all right?" he asked Matt. Matt shrugged and nodded.

Remus said goodbye to Matt – and to Greentooth too, he supposed – and left the main building. Greyback's eyes were on him the whole time. Outside, he was forced to explain himself to Bluefoot and Silverear – members of Greentooth's pack, who'd named themselves after coloured body parts in Greyback's honour – and was forced to endure several minutes of questions as they walked him to the camp border.

Silverear was easily the smartest of the two but he was also the youngest, only ten compared to Bluefoot's fourteen; Remus – who had years of experience deflecting conversation – was able to avoid answering most of their questions with very little effort. And, by avoiding questions, he wasn't lying and so didn't have to worry about his scent giving him away.

They left him at the border, with specific instructions to check in with them as soon as he returned. Remus thanked them – a little sarcastically – and Disapparated before they could tell him anything else.

Home was his first stop. He intended to collect Strix and write to Mad-Eye so that he could arrange a meeting with Dora; that was an easier way of doing it than wandering around London and hoping to bump into her.

As he walked in the front door, however, it became immediately apparent that he needn't bother; he could smell her in his sitting room, and hear movement in the hallway.

He closed the door – and revelled in the luxury of such a simple act - and considered going to say hello, but decided it would be easier to let her come to him; her rucksack was resting on his table, which meant she'd have to return to this part of the cottage.

Remus had only just made himself comfortable – the softness of a couch was another thing he'd missed – when footsteps announced her return. She didn't even see him until she was a few feet away.

Remus had plenty of time to observe her, however; her hair was a deep blue colour and she was wearing a pair of jeans and what appeared to be one of his old jumpers. In her arms was almost every article of clothing he owned – minus the things he'd taken to the camp. When she did spot him, she shrieked and dropped everything, and her hair turned a blinding white.

"Good afternoon," he said, giving her a bemused smile and a nod.

"Remus!" she exclaimed. Her hair turned lime green which Remus guessed was a mix of happiness and something – which, going by her scent – he thought might have been guilt. "You scared me! What are you doing here?" She hugged him and sat down. "Is Matt okay?" she asked. "What happened to your face?"

"In reverse order," he said, "Greyback is responsible for this-" He gestured to his black eye and the cut on his jaw. "-but it was probably my fault for provoking him." Remus had spent a lot of time in the past week pushing the boundaries Greyback had given him so that he'd know what was acceptable and what wasn't. It probably wasn't overly intelligent of him, but it was useful information, and worth the painful warning Greyback had given him. "Matt's as good as he could be, given the circumstances and as for what I'm doing here... I'm more interested to know why you're here, although I suspect it has something to do with the strange letter I received this morning."

"Letter?" she asked.

"From Malfoy," he explained. "He wanted to follow up on yesterday's discussion-" He wasn't surprised at all to see that she seemed to know what he was talking about. "-which I found puzzling because I didn't see Malfoy yesterday."

"That's odd," she said, very unconvincingly.

"Dora..." he said and she winced. Her hair was now more green than yellow. "Care to explain?"

"Not particularly," she admitted, and Remus smiled slightly. She sighed and fiddled with a loose thread in the jumper. "I've been pretending to be you," she said, staring at her lap.

"I'd figured that much out," he said wryly.

"And Matt," she added in a small voice. That, he hadn't known.

"Dora-" he started.

"It was my choice," she said defensively.

"Thank you," he said. She blinked and her hair flashed white and then orange.

"I don't- you're not angry?"

"Angry?" he laughed. "You're doing me and a very good friend of mine an enormous favour of your own accord. I'd be stupid to be anything other than grateful." He grinned. "Even if you are stealing my clothes." She hugged herself – actually, Remus realised – she hugged the jumper she was wearing.

It was a bright red knitted one that Aunt Catherine had sent him for his seventeenth birthday. He'd worn it once for the sake of it – James had forced him to, thinking it was funny (and Remus supposed it had been) – and once to the Quidditch final in his seventh year; house pride and all that. Though it was actually very comfortable, he hadn't worn it since – partially because it was too bright to suit his tastes – and partially to spite Aunt Catherine.

"_Borrowing_ your clothes," she corrected. "Besides, if I'm you, then they're actually mine."

"I do hope you haven't been wearing that while you've been me," he said, nodding at the jumper.

"Twice," she said, and Remus pulled a face. "What? It's nice!"

"It's yours," he said. "As long as you never wear it again while you're being me."

"Done," she said, beaming and then gave him a wary look. "Are you sure you're not angry?"

"Positive," he said. "I'm worried that you might be overworking yourself-"

"I can handle it," she assured him. He stared at her face for a moment, trying to see if there were any dark circles forming, or if her eyes were sleepy, but gave up; she was perfectly capable of hiding anything like that. "So how long are you back?"

"A few hours, maybe," Remus said, thinking that – since he was already away from the camp – he might as well go and visit Sirius and Harry. "Why?"

"Have you had lunch?"

"No," he said. She bounced to her feet.

"Brilliant," she said. She flicked her wand at the dropped pile of clothes and they soared into her rucksack. "Let's go then: I'm paying."

"Are you sure?" he asked, standing.

"Let me put it this way," she said, hauling her rucksack on. "I'm going to ask you lots of questions about being you and about Matt – because now that you know, it's not strange for me to ask you these things-" Remus laughed. "-and I can either reward you for your participation, or you can pay for your own lunch and help me anyway." She gave him a winning smile.

"You know I'd help you anyway," he said.

"I know. Which is why I insist on paying... And," she added, "if you insist on paying for your own, I'll insist on paying for mine. With sickles." Remus couldn't help grimacing. "I'm so sorry about that, by the way. I didn't know back then but I was thinking about it the other day and felt terrible. Oh! That's another reason for me to pay; I'm making it up to you."

Her cheerful mood was infectious and so different to the grim intensity of the camp. Remus found himself grinning and offering her the pot of Floo Powder.

* * *

"Someone's in the house," Padfoot whispered. Harry froze and several of the nightshade berries he was holding slipped out of his hands. They dropped onto the floor and rolled away but Harry didn't really mind. He wiped his hands on his robes and drew his wand.

"Who?" he breathed. Padfoot rolled his eyes.

"If I knew, I'd have said," he muttered, and the corner of his mouth twitched. He didn't smile though; he looked tense and worried and wad dropped the small hand trowel he'd been using in favour of his wand. Harry stared at it and tightened his grip on his own wand. He swallowed and glanced at Padfoot. They both rose as quietly as possible; Harry was careful not to disturb his cauldron, or Padfoot's pot of soil.

"Are they upstairs?" Padfoot shook his head.

"I heard the Floo," he whispered.

"Could it be Moony?" Harry asked hopefully; he'd missed him.

"It could," Padfoot said, nodding, "but he's supposed to be at the camp... Not to say he can't leave, of course, but I'd have expected him to write..."

"Padfoot? Harry?" It was Moony, or at least it sounded like him. Harry relaxed and lowered his wand. Padfoot grinned briefly, but kept his up.

"We're up here!" Padfoot called, and then Harry could hear his footsteps too. Moony strolled in, wearing a broad smile but Harry noticed, that he had a blackened eye and a cut on his face.

"What happened?" Harry asked, stepping towards him. Padfoot, however, caught his shoulder. Moony's smile faltered.

"What did you go as on Halloween?" he asked.

"A pirate," Moony said at once, smiling again. Harry shrugged Padfoot's hand off and ran to hug Moony. Moony hugged him back. "And it was Greyback," he said, answering Harry's question. "You wouldn't believe how much I've missed the two of you," he said. "Even if the Mad-Eye-style welcome is all I get-"

"I was just making sure," Padfoot said, shooing Harry away so that he could hug Moony too. Harry started collecting the nightshade berries he'd dropped.

"Constant vigilance?" Moony asked, grinning.

"Something like that," Padfoot agreed, as he flopped back down. Moony sat with a little more decorum.

"It's probably not a bad idea," Moony said thoughtfully. "I've just come from lunch with Dora and you wouldn't believe what's she's been up to..." It turned out that Dora – who Harry'd heard a reasonable amount about from Moony – had been pretending to be Moony to keep Malfoy from getting suspicious about Moony's absence. Padfoot _could_ believe this, and found it extremely funny – as did Harry - but also a little worrying.

"We'll have to establish safety questions," he said thoughtfully. "Can't have us wandering up to her in Diagon Alley, thinking she's you."

"Firstly," Moony said, "when are you ever in Diagon Alley?" Padfoot opened his mouth. "And secondly, if you did go, it's more than likely that I'd be there _with_ the two of you."

Though Harry thought Moony was making a very good point, Padfoot still asked him several questions that could apparently be used to identify him later.

"What are you working on, Harry?" Moony asked, refusing to answer Padfoot's last question ("Where did you hide your chocolate at the end of seventh year?") Harry - who'd managed to find every berry and was now attempting to weigh them on a set of old scales - looked up.

"My Form-Revealer," he said, dropping a handful in. "Well, my second one – I messed the first one up."

"Moony," Padfoot whined.

"A hollowed out copy of _Decoding The Solar System_," he sighed, before turning back to Harry. "What stage are you at?"

"Stage two," Harry said, dodging as the potion bubbled and spat out a bit of purple liquid.

"_Decoding The-_ That's the one Peter spilled the Firewhiskey all over, isn't it?" Padfoot asked.

"Which is why you couldn't smell it out like you did with my pre-Christmas stash," Moony told him, grinning.

"Damn it!" Padfoot exclaimed. Harry and Moony both looked at him. "Prongs and I had a bet," Padfoot explained. "_I _thought you'd found somewhere outside the dorm to hide it but he insisted it was inside but too well hidden to be found... Looks like I owe him a galleon." Harry and Moony exchanged a look, unsure of what to say. "Remind me to pay you later, kiddo," Padfoot said.

"Me?" Harry asked, dropping in another handful of berries. The potion turned a darker purple.

"I can't exactly pay James, can I?" Padfoot asked. "But if I had, the money would have gone into his vault and that's gone to you so logically-"

"Don't argue," Moony advised, as Harry opened his mouth. "Just take the money."

Padfoot laughed and tapped one of the seedlings in his pot with his wand. He checked something in _Producing Plants: An Advanced Guide, _shook his head and flicked his wand again and then glanced over to see what Harry was doing. "Remember, kiddo, just the two handfuls-"

"I know," Harry said, sheepishly; he'd added three the time before and the potion had turned black and highly poisonous. They'd dipped the locket in it, just to see whether it'd do anything but it hadn't; they hadn't taken Keira up on her offer yet. If anything, the locket had come out looking shinier, which made Padfoot speculate about whether it was goblin-made (that hadn't made any sense to Harry, so he'd just nodded).

"I don't remember you lot using nightshade," Moony said to Padfoot, as he used his wand like a watering can.

"Yes, you do," Padfoot said. Harry stared as the seedlings grew several inches and started to sprout buds and leaves. "The extra went into my potion kit and the next lesson we were making that stupid Sickness Cure and-"

"Oh," Moony said, in a very different tone. "The elderberries."

"The what?" Harry asked.

"Elderberries," Padfoot said ruefully, "look a lot like nightshade to second years that haven't had any sleep the night before." Harry grimaced. "I put in what I thought were elderberries and Prongs was feeling a bit off after our long night, so he had a few mouthfuls when Slughorn wasn't watching."

"Poisoned himself," Moony said, almost fondly. "Spent a night in St Mungo's and then three days in the Hospital Wing under constant supervision. He almost died – we were all terrified at the time-"

"I didn't go to lessons for three days because I was sitting with him," Padfoot said. "I think I left once to add something to the potion because Peter couldn't be trusted to do it but other than that-"

"People thought you'd been poisoned too," Moony chuckled, and then turned back to Harry. "Once we knew James was going to be all right, the whole thing became terribly funny; as far as the students were concerned, Lily'd got sick of James and poisoned him, and the staff were just as confused. Poor Madam Pomfrey couldn't for the life of her work out how James had managed to eat nightshade berries, since they're not used at Hogwarts until fourth year, when you cover poisons and antidotes..."

"And we weren't about to enlighten her about _that_," Padfoot said, grimacing. "She wrote a very angry letter to the apothecary in Diagon Alley that the three of us – because obviously James was in no state to do anything about it – went to great lengths to intercept." Harry laughed, well able to imagine it – well, Moony and Padfoot certainly – as he stirred his potion again.

"Stop," Padfoot said, taking the stirring rod away from him; the potion was still a dark, inky purple, but its consistency was like that of water instead of syrup. Padfoot checked his watch.

"Is it wrong?" Harry asked, moving back immediately. Moony shuffled back with him.

"No, it's right," Padfoot said. "Any more stirring could ruin it though. The nightshade makes it volatile."

"Oh," Harry said, peering at the still potion. Padfoot cast a quick charm that cleaned the stirring rod and set it back down. Harry checked _Embracing Your Inner Beast _for the next set of instructions; he'd never made it this far before. "It says to let it sit for forty minutes and then to add the boggart blood... Is that right?"

"Is that what the book says?" Padfoot asked.

"Yes," Harry said, checking again to make sure.

"Then yes, that's right," Padfoot told him, smirking. "Just a note for next time; it's always a good idea to check your watch the moment you complete a step of the instructions."

"Why?" Harry asked.

"Because," Moony said, "it's not uncommon for the next step to tell you to leave it for a specific amount of time. And you get the best results when you're closer to that time than if you're a minute off. The Wolfsbane Potion, for example, needs to sit for exactly seventy minutes and if you're not within ten seconds of that, the entire thing is rendered useless. It's why I've always struggled with it."

"This one's a bit more forgiving," Padfoot told Harry; obviously he'd seen Harry's panicky expression. "You've got a window of about ten minutes instead of ten seconds." Harry relaxed slightly. "The closer you are, though, the better the potion will be." Harry's head was starting to hurt and he felt a stab of dread for seven years of Potions under Snape's glare when he got to Hogwarts.

He wondered if Moony'd guessed what he was thinking because he said, "Potions a very easy subject to get good at." Harry stared at him. "It is. It's all about precision. Some of it is skill-based – particularly understanding the interactions of ingredients – and some of it is technique-based, but the majority of it is precision, and being able to follow instructions."

"That doesn't sound so bad," Harry admitted. "_Tempus Admonius,_" he said, flicking his wand. He used Padfoot's watch to set the proper time and then nodded, pleased with his handiwork; he'd set the Alarm Charm on his wrist, where it would be impossible to ignore.

"What do you say to lunch while you're waiting?" Padfoot asked, giving his plants one last look. Harry nodded enthusiastically and bounded to his feet. Padfoot laughed. "Moony?"

"I've eaten," Moony said, holding up a hand.

"More food for us then," Padfoot said, grinning. "But come down anyway."

"Why?" Moony asked; he was already getting to his feet.

"Why? For the pleasure of my company, of course," Padfoot said. Harry checked his potion again before following them out of the room.

* * *

"... olive. You _like_ olives," Millicent said. Draco was – yet again – stuck next to her at dinner. Thankfully, however, she was so determined to pull Pansy out of her subdued state that she hadn't said a word to him all night. Draco was perfectly fine with that, but he could tell Pansy was fed up with Millicent's attention.

"Just leave her alone," he said, doing what he'd been told to do lately; speaking his mind. Millicent lifted an eyebrow but didn't say anything.

Daphne, however, who was on Draco's other side, turned around immediately and asked, "Why do you care?"

"I just-" Draco couldn't explain it, though. He didn't know why he'd said anything.

"'I just'," Daphne mocked, and then laughed. Draco shifted, uncomfortable. "You've been strange tonight, Draco. Are you feeling all right?"

"Not really," Draco said. He wasn't feeling sick or tired, though. Just confused about the way he'd been acting lately. And confused, because that was the way he was being told to act, so clearly it wasn't _wrong._ It felt it, though, and he didn't know what to do.

"What's wrong?" Daphne asked, cocking her head to the side.

"I don't want to talk about it," he said, because he didn't know what to say. Otherwise, he might have said something; that, he was reasonably sure, would only make things worse. And then he'd be even more confused. He groaned and buried his face in his hands.

"Draco?" That was Pansy. And she must be worried if she was talking; her mother hadn't been well enough to come tonight, and so Pansy'd been very quiet and trying very hard to ignore them all. "What's wrong?"

"My head hurts," he mumbled.

"Mrs Malfoy!" A chair scraped and the Draco felt cool hands on his hair.

"Draco?" That was Mother. "Are you all right?" He shook his head. "Are you able to walk?" He nodded and let Mother help him up. She led him out of the dining room and into the sitting room and then guided him to a couch.

"I don't know what's wrong with me," he said, before she could ask what the problem was. She pulled his hands away from his face and then felt his forehead.

"You're not warm."

"I don't think I'm sick," he said, looking at her for the first time. She arched an eyebrow and flicked her wand. She frowned and then did it again. This time he felt a sensation like hands on his skin and recognised the spell as a Diagnostic Charm. He'd never known Mother to cast one before, though. Usually Dobby did it; Mother wasn't very good at healing magic.

"I don't think you're sick either," she said, tucking her wand into a sleeve of her silky dress robes.

"Unless you did the charm wrong," he mumbled, saying what he thought again; questioning Mother was a very brave thing to do and he wasn't entirely sure why he'd done it. He wished he _was_ sick, because then he'd have an excuse to go home and sleep.

"Unless I did the charm wrong," she agreed. Draco stared at her; Mother _never_ admitted any weaknesses. He stared even more when she added, "And that is a distinct possibility." Then she smiled, as if she knew how thrown he was – and she probably did - and added, "Wouldn't you agree, Draco?"

"Yes," he said, because that's what she seemed to want. Instead, she raised her eyebrows again.

"Is that what you really think?" she asked. "Or are you just saying what you think I'd like to hear?"

"I don't know," he said.

"Do you think I'm good at medical magic?" she asked. Draco didn't know what to say; it would be rude to tell her 'no' and she'd always encouraged good manners, but she'd also been encouraging him to tell the truth, even if others didn't want to hear it.

"I don't know," he said after several long seconds of deliberation.

"I've asked you to tell me the truth," she said sternly.

"No," he said.

"No, what?"

"No, I don't think you're good at medical magic," he mumbled. She smiled and Draco didn't know how to feel.

He felt like crying – except Malfoys didn't cry – but maybe he should because Father had told him just the other day not to hide his feelings. But if one of the other children saw him, then they'd hold it over him for years. And Draco'd always been told not to care what others thought about him – if they were thinking about him (either good things or bad things) that was good, because it meant he'd made an impression - but lately Mother had told him that other people had feelings and thoughts too and that he should listen to them, and that he should make sure people only had good things to say about him.

He felt like screaming – Malfoys were allowed to do that, sometimes – but it wasn't proper. He was _supposed_ to behave and not carry on or use the few swear words that some of the older purebloods had taught him. That could upset people and he was supposed to watch out for other people's feelings now. But, he was also supposed to do what he wanted to do, without worrying about whether it upset people or not, but how would that ensure people thought good things about him?

"Draco?" Mother asked.

"My head hurts," he said again, and then he fainted.

* * *

"You took your time," Bluefoot said, folding his arms. Silverear and Greentooth flanked him, standing the same way.

"I had a lot to do," Remus said, folding his own arms. Bluefoot stepped forward, hand suddenly lifted as if he was going to grab Remus' throat. Remus didn't move, but he glared as hard as he could. Bluefoot was only about a yard away when he thought better of it and backed off again. "I should think so," Remus said. Greentooth bared her teeth and stepped forward to smell him.

"You smell clean," she said accusingly.

"I had a shower," he told her, gesturing to his still-damp hair. He'd used a lot of soap to eradicate Harry, Sirius and Dora's scents; Dora's in particular would be incredibly dangerous to have on him. Remus was on delicate ground with Greyback but that could become a lot worse if he found out Remus was friendly with the woman who'd maimed him to save Matt in October.

"Trying to hide something?" Silverear asked.

"You'll never know," Remus said. All three of them bristled. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to let Greyback know I've returned."

"I'll do it," Greentooth said at once.

"I'm capable, I assure you," Remus said.

He hadn't expected that to deter her so it didn't particularly surprise him when she and the other two formed a triangle around him and escorted him into the building. Remus kept his head up, trying to look as unaffected by it as possible. Hardly anyone was looking anyway; dinner had been served and most were fully focused on that. Those that weren't were listening to Greyback, who was – as usual – lounging in his throne.

"...Diagon Alley in London," he was saying. Remus groaned, causing Bluefoot to snarl at him; this story was told almost nightly at the camp. Greyback had bitten a girl a while ago and had not been able to find her since. Remus was impressed; it wasn't easy to hide from Greyback. Unfortunately for Greyback's mystery girl, however, she'd hidden herself so effectively that Greyback had become obsessed with her and with the idea of finding her.

"...I wasn't planning to gift anyone that night but then she walked past, looking so small and _afraid_." Remus snorted; most people looked edgy if they were in Diagon Alley at night, especially if they were young and alone. And Greyback probably _had_ been planning to bite if he'd positioned himself in Diagon Alley during a full moon.

"I knew I never wanted her to look that way again and I knew I could help her," Greyback said. Greentooth sighed happily from beside Remus. Remus snorted again and she turned around, looking furious. Remus looked away hurriedly and spotted Matt, sitting with some of the older women on the other side of the room.

Matt gave him a thumbs up and Remus shrugged and nodded. Matt nodded once and patted the seat beside him and Remus shook his head. Matt tipped one shoulder and Remus tilted his head at Greyback. Matt nodded once more and gave the woman beside him – her name was Candice – a sheepish look; she'd been distracted by their silent conversation. Remus looked back to Greyback, who'd got to his feet and was pacing.

"... fought. Already it was clear that my gift was making her powerful; one small bite and already she was brave, she was _fighting._"Greyback turned to his audience. Remus didn't know what was more sickening; the story, Greyback's obvious pleasure, or the fact that almost everyone in the room was hanging off Greyback's every word. "She managed to get me off – quick with her wand, she was – and by the time I'd oriented myself, she'd vanished."

"Where is she now?" one boy – Remus thought his name was Rednose or something similar – called.

_Gone, _Remus thought dully. _Like smoke in the wind. _

"Gone," Greyback said. "Like smoke in the wind." The women Matt were with sighed and he looked distinctly frustrated when Remus glanced in his direction. "I'm searching though, for your lost sister. My lost daughter. I'll find her and bring her home, my children."

"Thank you, Father," Greentooth murmured from beside Remus. She wasn't the only one who'd said it, either; Greyback's obsession seemed to be contagious. Remus hoped for the mystery girl's sake that she was either very far away, or very well hidden; if she was found and brought to the camp, she'd be watched so closely by all of her adoring 'siblings' that she'd never get away again.

"Greentooth," Greyback said, spotting Greentooth, Bluefoot, Silverear and Remus. Everyone else seemed to take that as a signal to start eating again. Remus approached before any of the other three had a chance to drag him forward.

"Greyback," Remus said, as the other three tipped their heads back. Greyback held each of them by the throat – much more gently than he'd ever done with Remus or Matt – and then released them. They melted through the crowd and disappeared out through the door again.

"Son," Greyback said imperiously. "Welcome home."

"Back," Remus said, folding his arms.

"What?"

"Welcome back." Remus told him. "Not welcome home."

"I thought I told you that I wouldn't stand for any threatening-"

"It's an indication that I don't want to be here," Remus snorted. "I don't think I could be any _less_ threatening-"

Greyback's fist collided with his cheek. It wasn't entirely unexpected but it still hurt and Greyback had hit hard enough to push Remus back a few steps. Remus winced and rubbed his face, but Greyback seemed to have wanted a more dramatic reaction. It suddenly occurred to Remus that Greyback was testing him as much as he was testing Greyback.

_That could be very dangerous_, he thought, taking the punch as a dismissal. He crossed the room and took a seat next to Matt – Candice and the others left when they saw him coming - who wordlessly passed over his cup of water.

"Thank you," he said, pressing the cold glass against his face.

"No problem," Matt said, his eyes on two of the younger children over – they were only four and were quite wild. "So where were you?"

Remus glanced over his shoulder and leaned closer. "Dora's been covering for us with Malfoy, but Malfoy was getting suspicious. She thought it might be good if he saw me today – just to show I haven't just run off – and that gives your story credibility too... She sends her greetings by the way."

"Theodora?" he asked. Remus nodded. "That's nice of her."

"She-" A large, hairy hand closed around Remus' shoulder and then meaty breath was in his face. Matt's shoulder was likewise held.

"Just a warning, sons," Greyback said. "You're looking awfully suspicious."

Remus had several sarcastic retorts he was dying to use but he bit his tongue and tried to look as dignified as it was possible to look with a glass of cold water pressed up against his sore face.

Matt, unfortunately, had other ideas.

"Suspicious, _Father_?" he asked. "I think you need your eyes tested."

"What were you talking about?" Greyback snarled.

"A friend," Matt snapped.

"Another pet?" Greyback asked, glaring at Remus. "Not my-"

"She's human," Remus said tiredly, turning the glass; the side was beginning to get warm. "Would you mind going away?"

"Sick of me, are you?" Greyback asked, squeezing Remus' shoulder painfully. Remus assumed – from Matt's wince – that he'd done the same to Matt.

"Yes," Matt said. Greyback growled and Matt winced again.

"That and it's awfully hard to look suspicious with you hovering over us," Remus added, channelling Sirius.

Thankfully, Greyback seemed to realise he was being mocked – and that he stood no chance of winning a battle of wits with either of them – and left with one more shoulder-squeeze as a warning. Remus _knew_ they'd pay for it later but couldn't bring himself to care.

"Two months left," Matt muttered, brushing the place Greyback had touched his jumper.

Remus groaned and leaned back in his seat, glass still pressed against his cheek.


	36. Merry Mayhem

"Nymphadora! Keith was just about to go and pick you up!" Roberta exclaimed.

"He's too slow," she joked. She hesitated and then hugged her boyfriend's mother. "Merry Christmas, Roberta."

"Merry Christmas, dear," Roberta said. "You look lovely, by the way," Tonks beamed; she was wearing Remus' red jumper, had pale green skin, bright green eyes and silver, fluffy hair that greatly resembled tinsel. "Here, give me those," she said, waving to the bag of presents in Tonks' arms. Tonks offered the bag and with a wave of Roberta's wand, it was gone, zooming into the sitting room, where Tonks and Keith had set up the tree a few weeks back.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome, dear. Just let me- Keith! Nymphadora's here!" Tonks' smile slipped a little; she _hated_ that name. Two sets of footsteps hurried down the hallway. Alfred was the first to emerge, closely followed by Keith. "Keith, have you introduced-"

"Wow! Wicked skin!" Roberta looked worried but Alfred was quick to calm her down. "Don't worry, Rob," Alfred said, throwing his arms around Tonks, narrowly beating Keith, who'd just moved to do the same. Keith looked mildly annoyed and wrapped her in a hug as soon as Alfred released her. "Nymphadora and I have been friends for _years_. In fact, I think I was the one who introduced her to Keith back in first year." Keith rolled his eyes and kissed Tonks' cheek.

"Wotcher," Tonks murmured.

"Hi," he said, smiling. He stepped back, but kept an arm around her.

"Aren't you two cute," Alfred commented, making Tonks blush and Keith beam.

"Be nice, Alf," Roberta warned and then smiled at Tonks. "They're gorgeous." Alfred poked his tongue out at her and she smacked his shoulder. "Lunch is about ten minutes away, so you three keep yourselves occupied until then."

"We will. Thanks, Mum," Keith said. Roberta disappeared into the kitchen, where Tonks could hear others talking.

"Should I go and say hello?" she asked.

"It's just Lou, Bec and my mum," Alfred said, flapping a hand. "You can see them at lunch." He turned to Keith. "Would you like to finish the game?" Keith took a not-so-subtle look at Tonks and shook his head.

"What game?" she asked.

"We were playing chess," Keith said.

"_I _was playing chess," Alfred corrected. "You were trying to sabotage yourself so you could go get Nymphadora-"

"You can finish if you'd like," she said, grinning at them both. "I don't mind."

"You'll be bored," Keith said.

"I'll be watching," she told him. Keith grimaced as if he couldn't understand how anyone could find that fun, and Tonks supposed he couldn't; he was the sort that needed to be physically doing something or he'd get bored. "And maybe I'll help," she added. "If you were sabotaging yourself, you'll need my help to win."

"It wasn't sabotage! I've only lost two pieces," Keith protested, but his competitive side had kicked in and he allowed them to lead the way to the sitting room where the Williams' ornate chess table sat.

Five minutes later, Keith had lost interest and was complaining of boredom from a nearby armchair. Tonks had taken over and was holding her own against Alfred, and also catching up with him; she'd only seen him once – briefly – since school ended. He complained about his supervisor in the Department of Management and Control of Magical Children.

"Horrible little toad of a woman," he said, directing his knight onto a square that was currently occupied by her bishop. "I don't think she even _likes_ children, but apparently she's worked there for seventeen years... She's got the most annoying voice..."

"No! Not there, you idiot!" Tonks' castle shouted. "Can't you see his pawn?!"

"Oh, right. Sorry... er... can you go to F4 instead?"

"I don't know," her castle asked snarkily. "Can I?"

"And," Alfred continued, taking the castle that she'd just moved, "she wears so much pink that even _you'd_ find her hard to look at." That description made Tonks remember something from about a month ago.

"I think I know her," she said, frowning. "She was in the lift and she told me my hair was ugly."

"Sounds like her," Alfred said darkly. "Bloody Umbridge." Keith immediately came to Tonks' defence; he alternated between insulting the Umbridge woman and telling Tonks her hair was beautiful.

"Thanks," she said, grinning at him, as her knight dragged Alfred's queen off the board.

Just as Alfred managed to manoeuvre himself into a last-minute stalemate - it had seemed like Tonks was about to win until then win – Roberta called them all for lunch. Alfred cheered and hurtled down the hallway and Tonks made to follow but was held back by Keith.

"I'm sorry," he said. Tonks cocked her head.

"For what?"

"Alfred. I didn't want him to come, but-"

"Don't be thick," she said. "You two always do Christmas together." She smiled. "It's fine. It's actually wonderful to see him."

"It's just... It's our first Christmas as a couple..."

"It is," she agreed, kissing his cheek. "But that doesn't mean we can't share our time with other people." She'd already seen Tom and Charlie this morning, and after lunch she was supposed to go into the Ministry for a training exercise which would be followed by food provided by the mentors; she'd watched Mad-Eye blow up three cakes and set another on fire in an attempt to get the icing to stay on. Dinner was meant to be with her muggle relatives and she also needed to find time to drop Remus' present at his cottage; she didn't want to risk posting it.

"I suppose not," he said.

"Keith!" Roberta called again. "Bring Nymphadora down for lunch!"

"Coming!" Keith called, taking Tonks' hand.

Tonks spent lunch wedged between Keith, and Alfred's older sister Rebecca in a seat directly opposite Keith's dad, Greg. Since the Booths and Williams' saw each other nearly every day, Tonks was the centre of attention and had questions thrown at her from all sides of the table. She told them what she could about Auror training, and about Mad-Eye, and also a bit about the other trainees.

They all laughed when she told them about Auror Finch buying Florence an alarm clock because she'd slept in and missed so many morning training sessions, and again when she told them about Dale being attacked by a pink flower in the _Plants And Poisons_ unit; Dale no longer wore pink, only purple. They all shuddered when she told them about Azkaban. She was relieved when Alfred started to talk about his Apparition test – he'd finally passed - and drew everyone's attention away.

They unwrapped presents afterward; Tonks had suspected the Booths would be there and so had bought something small for each of them, and she had also bought things for Keith and his parents.

Keith immediately donned the Tutshill Tornados jumper she'd bought him, and Roberta and Greg thanked her for the box of chocolates.

Alfred's present to Tonks was a Sneakoscope (she'd given him a book written by a muggle psychologist) and Keith's present to her was a glass statue. It depicted a thicket of trees, a small stream that was charmed to look like it was flowing, and a small, thin figure that was paddling its feet in the water.

"It's a nymph," he said, pointing to the figure that was roughly the size of Tonks' biggest finger. "For your name."

"Is it really the best idea to give _me _something so breakable?" she asked, laughing. He laughed too. As touched as she was by the thought he'd obviously put into it, why in Merlin's name did it have to be a _nymph_?

Those thoughts, of course, made her feel exceptionally guilty, and she carefully set the statue down so that she could hug him.

"Do you like it?" he asked, as Louise admired it. She paused, looking for words that could accurately describe her feelings towards it.

"It's pretty," she said finally, smiling; it _was_ pretty, but that was probably the only nice thing she could say about it. It was highly breakable – she hadn't been kidding when she'd asked him if it was a good idea to buy it for her – and it was a _nymph. _For Nymphadora, her stupid name.

Keith beamed and Tonks put the statue back in its box, to 'keep it safe'.

Thankfully, Alfred chose that moment to offer Keith his present and Tonks was able to get away with it.

_I must make sure Mum _never_ sees this_.

* * *

Charlie and Bill had always been close. It probably came with being significantly older than any of the others. Percy had his books – though Bill tried to include him as much as possible – the twins had each other and Ron and Ginny were the youngest and tended to band together, though they always seemed to have time for their older siblings; Ron tended to tag along whenever he was allowed to but seemed to think of himself as a burden while Ginny had a talent for making the others tag along with her.

Charlie had grown significantly closer to both of them since leaving school, however; it was the longest he'd ever spent with them at once, since he'd started school, because back then they'd been too young to spend any real time with. A few summers ago, he'd taught Ron to fly properly and taught Ginny how to draw. She'd wanted to learn to fly too but teaching Ron had been challenging enough and so Charlie'd refused.

She hadn't talked to him for days and then – for no reason he'd been able to pinpoint – had suddenly forgiven him. She'd taken long walks, which Charlie secretly suspected she was using to hide somewhere and plot her revenge; every time she'd been asked about it, she'd got this smug look on her face and refuse to answer. While she still took long walks, she hadn't asked about flying lessons for years, even though she was probably old enough now. Charlie assumed she'd lost interest and so continued teaching her to draw.

Charlie'd had almost six months with them now and he'd thoroughly enjoyed getting to know them better. Ron had been given a chess set for his birthday and Charlie and Bill had taught him the game. Charlie had spent a lot of time playing chess with him, and was ashamed to admit that a ten year old now beat him more times than Charlie beat Ron.

Since Charlie was living at home again, he, Ron and Ginny also spent a lot of time together helping Mum out around the house. Ginny helped with a lot of the cooking – which Ron refused to do – but she also helped with the chickens, which was one of Charlie's jobs. Ron had obviously had a lot of practice de-gnoming, because he proved himself capable every few weeks when he and Charlie were sent to do that. Ginny wasn't allowed anywhere near the gnomes, becuse Mum was worried she'd learn the swear words that the twins had taught them. Charlie was fairly sure she knew them all anyway, but he wasn't going to be the one to tell Mum that.

Despite their developing closeness, however, Charlie and Bill were still closer age-wise and had been confiding in each other for years. For that reason, it was his room – since Bill was staying at home again over Christmas – that Charlie went to the moment the owl arrived; he and Bill had shared Charlie's room since Bill had started Hogwarts, because Bill's old room had gone to Ginny.

"Yeah?" Bill asked as Charlie walked in. Bill had his back to the door and was leaning out the window; Charlie could see Errol disappearing into the distance.

"Look," Charlie said, fanning himself with his letter. It wasn't the best fan; he'd read it so many times that the parchment was beginning to go soft.

"What is it?"

"A letter," Charlie said, waggling his eyebrows.

"For...?" Bill asked impatiently.

"Me, stupid," Charlie told him. Bill rolled his eyes. "It's my acceptance from Romania," he added. "I leave on the third." Instead of looking happy for him, or whooping or hugging him, Bill looked shocked and then angry.

"Romania?" he asked. "But you can't-"

"This says I can," Charlie said, waving the parchment again.

"But-"

"What's wrong with you?" Charlie asked, frowning. "I thought you'd be excited for me. Romania's what I've always wanted-"

"I got a promotion at the bank," Bill said, gesturing to the window. "I'm taking a position in Egypt and _I _leave on the second. That was my acceptance with Errol."

"Congratulations," Charlie said. "Bet Mum's pleased."

"Well," Bill said. "You see, I haven't exactly-"

"Oh no," Charlie groaned, suddenly filled with dread. They were both leaving home within a day of each other, and neither of them had told Mum yet; he'd been planning to do it at dinner when the entire family was together and – more importantly – Dad was there to calm Mum down.

"Oh yes," Bill said. "I'm telling them at dinner. I don't think I can put it off for much-"

"_I'm_ telling them at dinner!" Charlie said. "I've been planning this for just the right time and now I've got my confirmation I can prove that I'm in-"

"I thought you hadn't got the position," Bill groaned, flopping onto his bed. "I thought you would still be around to help Mum when I left-"

"_I _thought you'd start coming home more," Charlie admitted. "Maybe even move back in to keep Mum happy-" Bill snorted and Charlie had to admit it had been a long shot; he knew Bill liked freedom too much to move back in with the rest of the family.

"Look," Bill said, "I leave the day before you do, so it's only fair that I get to tell them first-"

"They knew I was applying for this," Charlie countered. "Mum asked if I'd heard anything just the other day-"

"Then she won't be as surprised when you tell her. In fact," Bill said, "it'll be better if you let me go first because she'll be so surprised by my news that yours'll calm her down-"

"Or she'll be so distraught that she's losing you that she won't let me go." Bill grimaced. "See-"

"I should tell her first," Bill insisted.

"Shove off," Charlie said. "I've actually got my confirmation letter."

There was silence between them. Bill gave him a stony look and Charlie realised he must have said something important... He had his confirmation. Bill didn't, yet, which meant that Charlie would be able to answer any and all of Mum's questions. But, if Bill was planning to tell the family at dinner, then that meant his letter was probably due back soon. Charlie decided it must be going to London and not Egypt. And, now that Bill knew Charlie's news, he'd tell Mum as soon as he got it. Possibly before.

Both of them lunged for the bedroom door at the same time. Charlie's head collided with Bill's shoulder and Charlie's elbow caught Bill's stomach.

They both grunted and Charlie staggered back, clutching his head, while Bill doubled over, wheezing. Charlie, though, had taken worse hits in Quidditch and forced himself to keep moving while Bill was distracted.

"Get back here!" Bill huffed, reaching for him, but Charlie was too quick. He twisted out of the way and launched himself through the door. His letter was still clutched in his fist. He flung himself toward the landing when a rope suddenly tangled itself around his legs and he went down.

"What's going on up there?! Fred, George-"

"We're here, Mum!" one of the twins called back from somewhere downstairs.

"Oi!" Charlie said as Bill hurried past, still clutching his chest. Charlie's wand was in his pocket but he didn't draw it; Bill had seen and learned some reasonably incapacitating things since he joined the curse-breaking team at Gringotts. So, instead of his wand, Charlie pulled off his trainer and flung it at Bill. It hit his shoulder and as he stumbled, Charlie grabbed his ankles.

"Mum!" Bill called. "Mum! Where are you? I've got something to tell you! _Get off_!" he said, trying to kick Charlie's hands off.

"In the laundry room, Bill!" Mum called back.

Charlie pulled himself up - still clutching Bill's legs for dear life – and bellowed, "Mum!"

"Yes, Charlie dear?" she called, sounding tired; she'd been cooking all morning to make sure Christmas dinner would be unforgettable. Charlie was pretty sure it would be, for several reasons.

"I got my-"

"No!" Bill shouted, clapping a hand over Charlie's mouth. Charlie licked him, and Bill pulled a face but didn't let go.

"What, dear?" Mum asked.

"Don't worry, Mum. He was talking to me! But you'll never guess what's-" Charlie bit down on his hand. "Ow!"

"Are you all right, Bill dear?"

Bill was examining his red hand and Charlie shoved him away and dove down the stairs. Charlie hit the ground floor running, only to collide with Fred. Or George. He wasn't sure. Either way, they both went sprawling.

"Watch it!" Fred – Charlie could now seen that he was wearing a knitted jumper with an 'F' on it (though it was possible they'd swapped again) – said.

"You all right, Freddie?" George asked, looking up from the kitchen table; he appeared to have been trying to modify a Christmas cracker. From the ground, Charlie made a mental note not to touch those at dinner.

"I was just tackled by this great buffoon," Fred replied, taking George's offered hand up. "In a hurry, Charlie?"

"Yeah, sorry," Charlie said, getting to his feet alone; George hadn't offered him a hand, but he supposed he had run Fred over. "Got to talk to Mum-"

With a war cry, Bill tackled him to the ground again. Charlie fell, crushed by his older brother. Groaning he looked up in time to see Fred and George exchange evil, identical grins and join the pile with war cries of their own. All the air whooshed out of Charlie, but thankfully, both twins had attached themselves to Bill. Charlie began to inch free.

"Fred! George!" Mum shouted from the laundry room. Ron, Percy and Ginny all peered out of the sitting room, obviously disturbed by the noise.

"Honestly," Percy said, shaking his head. "Come on, Ron, let's leave them to it." Ron gave them a look, as if he was tempted to join, but then he looked at Percy and nodded. They disappeared.

"Ow! Fred, get _off!_" Bill complained.

Ginny, however, was still watching, with a wide grin on her face. Charlie knew what was coming before it happened; Ginny started toward them, hair streaming out behind her.

"Bloody-" one of the twins began.

"Enough!" Mum screeched, emerging from the laundry room. Ginny didn't slow down; she sped right on past them all and up the stairs, as if she'd intended to do so all along.

"Mum!" Bill and Charlie said in unison.

"Not a word from either of you!" Mum said, planting her hands on her hips. "It's bad enough that Fred and George are behaving like animals, but to have the pair of you encourage it-"

"Oi!" George protested. "We didn't start-" Mum held up a hand and he fell silent – wisely, in Charlie's opinion.

"And I haven't even started on what a bad example you're all setting for Ron and Ginny-"

"Right," Bill said, "sorry. But, Mum-"

"-who are they supposed to look up to-"

"Well ickle Ronnikins is so short he sort of has to look up to all of us, whether we're behaving or not," Fred pointed out. Mum swelled.

"Mum," Charlie said, trying to show her the letter, but George was sitting on his hand.

"Muriel and Bilius are going to be here in an hour and if you're not helping, you're in the way. Now go." Fred and George scrambled to their feet and took off upstairs, pausing to grab the cracker they'd been working on. "You too," Mum told Bill and Charlie.

"But, Mum-" Bill said.

"Not a word," she warned. "Now, upstairs with both of you. And so help me, if there's as much as an argument between the pair of you tonight-"

"Here-" Charlie said, thrusting the letter at her. She didn't take it.

"I really don't have time for this, Charlie," she said, throwing her hands up in the air.

"I got-" Bill started but Charlie elbowed him.

"Enough!" she said again. "Stop this childish fighting and go upstairs!" She spun on her heel and disappeared back into the laundry room before either of them could say another word.

"I'm telling her at dinner," Charlie told Bill.

"Yeah, after me," he said.

"Fat chance-" Charlie said hotly. "You-"

"_Upstairs now_!" came from the laundry.

Neither needed telling twice.

* * *

Outdoor space was what Remus had and Sirius did not. The reason Sirius wanted outdoor space became very quickly apparent when he and Harry stepped out of the fireplace; Sirius had sent Hedwig with a message saying that Remus had to come home for Christmas or Sirius and Harry would visit him at the camp.

It sounded like just the sort of thing Sirius would do – Remus liked to think Harry would have more sense – and so Remus had made arrangements with Greyback to leave the camp for a few hours; Matt had sneaked home the night before to spend Christmas with his parents.

"Merry Christmas," Harry said, hugging Remus. Harry was in an exceptionally good mood; the scent was radiating off him.

"Merry Christmas," Remus said, and then stared at the sleek broomstick in Harry's hand; it was obviously the reason for the cottage-visit. "Is that for me?" he teased, as Harry leaned it against the couch beside the two brooms Sirius had carried in.

"Er," Harry said, looking to Sirius for help; poor Harry was too polite and not possessive enough to make a big deal over it, but he was obviously stumped as far as responses went.

"Sod off, Moony," Sirius said, grinning. "That's his. Yours is here." He waved one of the other broomsticks – the one with a small red ribbon tied around the end. Before Remus could stutter out a thank you, or go to inspect the broom any closer, Sirius had given him a hug him around a tower of wrapped presents.

"You smell like dog biscuits," Remus said, laughing; it was reasonably obvious what Harry'd bought him. Sirius laughed and passed him all four parcels. "There's more on top of the broom?" he asked, stunned.

"They're not all for you," Sirius told him. "The small one's for Matt – we were going to send it with Hedwig but this way's easier – the heavy one's the thing you requested for Dora, the thin one is only yours until February, but the bigger one's all yours."

Remus put the parcels for Matt and Dora on the table and pulled the paper off the thin package. It was one of the mirrors – Remus didn't know whether it was Sirius' or Harry's but he supposed it didn't matter, because either way he'd be able to talk to them.

"Are you sure you want to give me this?" he asked.

"It's only yours until February," Sirius warned him. "Then Harry'll need it back."

"Thank you," Remus said, incredibly touched that Harry'd even thought of it. Suddenly, the remaining five weeks at the camp were looking far brighter.

"No problem," Harry said, grinning.

Remus set it down on the table and opened the other present. His hand came into contact with something soft and wet and he recoiled. The present thumped to the ground and Sirius and Harry roared with laughter; it was a raw steak, in the spirit of his and Sirius' Animagus-themed presents (a tradition which had started in fifth year). He laughed and pulled his wand out to Vanish it, but Sirius plucked it out of his hand.

"Trace, Moony."

"Right," Remus said, feeling silly. Harry – who'd tensed at the sight of the wand – relaxed. Remus carried the steak to the bin and disposed of it and the wrapping paper, as well as the plastic that protected his other gifts. He washed his hands at the sink and opened the two other – clean – boxes that had been wrapped with the steak.

One of them contained a large amount of chocolate – Remus was extremely pleased with that – and the other held two books and yet _another _box. One book was the next in a series by one of his favourite authors and one was a muggle cookbook. Harry grinned when he opened that one and Remus grinned back.

"Is this a hint that you'd like to visit more often?" he asked.

"Nah, you're just a bloody awful cook," Sirius said. Remus poked his tongue out and Harry laughed at the pair of them. Inside the third box was what appeared to be one of everything from Gambol and Jape's.

"Really?" he asked, holding up a small packet of odourless itching powder.

"We thought you might like to keep Greyback in line," Sirius said innocently.

_Odourless,_ Remus thought, entertained. _That's_ b_rilliant..._

"Anyone would think I was still fifteen," he said, grinning like a maniac as Harry showed him a hair-loss potion; Remus was imagining the possibilities for the full moon and had no doubt those thoughts had been in Harry and Sirius' thoughts when they'd bought them.

"Could be interesting," Sirius said, looking worryingly thoughtful.

"What?" Remus asked; Harry had taken one look at Sirius and smirked.

"Nothing," Harry said, looking at Remus with big eyes. Sirius looked smug.

"Rubbish." Harry just grinned and Remus let it go; if it was important, he'd find out eventually. He thanked both of them for the presents and made a quick trip to his desk drawer to retrieve the things he'd got each of them.

"Merry Christmas," he said, as Sirius shredded the paper on his gift.

"You got me something?" Harry asked wonderingly. Sirius paused to stare at Harry and then smile at Remus.

"Of course," Remus said, smiling at him; it was hard not to smile when Harry smelled so happy, though Remus wasn't sure what to make of the smell of surprise. Had he not been expecting presents? Harry beamed and tore into the paper, revealing an enormous box of Bertie Bott's – Remus knew for a fact that he'd run out – a new watch – Harry's current watch was quite battered and several sizes too big (he suspected it might have come from Harry's cousin) – and three photo frames, so that Harry had somewhere to store the photographs of Lily and James.

Remus couldn't afford to buy Harry a broomstick like Sirius could, but Harry didn't seem to mind; he enthusiastically swapped watches and offered his beans around – Sirius took some, though Remus didn't.

Sirius was laughing over the books Remus had picked out – one was a seven-hundred page monstrosity dedicated entirely to Sirius' life and speculation about his escape from Azkaban. They hadn't even got Sirius' birthdate right, let alone any other facts and Remus had picked it purely for entertainment purposes. The other – titled _Magical Mother _was also for Sirius' entertainment. Sirius was – predictably – amused that Remus had bought him a book for women but was also intrigued; there were some interesting spells in there. One, for example, was a charm that made dirty socks chase their wearer until they were put in the wash.

But, interested as Sirius was in the contents of the book, both Remus and Harry had to endure several minutes of Sirius doing motherly impressions; he alternated between his horrible old bat of a mother and an impression of what could have been Dorea, Lily or even Remus' own mother. Perhaps it was a mix of them all.

Things settled down after that and Remus caught them up on what had happened at the camp since he last saw them. That had only been two days ago, so admittedly it wasn't much. In turn, Harry and Sirius filled him in on things at Grimmauld Place; Harry had made a mistake with his Form-Revealer and blown up the training room – he had a large burn on his arm that looked exceptionally painful and that was _after_ Sirius had healed it – Sirius had finished magicking his seedlings and wanted Remus to help them pick the best one; they were going to Godric's Hollow after dinner to plant it on Lily and James' grave. And, apparently, Kreacher had been up all night preparing enough food to feed a small army in lieu of tonight's Christmas dinner.

"Kreacher wants us home by six," Sirius said, and Harry – to Remus' amusement – immediately checked his new watch.

"It's three-fifteen now," he announced, smiling at them. Sirius bounced to his feet and rubbed his hands together.

"We're going to need at least an hour to teach you how to fly," he added, looking at Harry, who Remus thought might explode with excitement. "Come on."

"You got me a Nimbus?" Remus asked, picking up his new broom and getting a good look at it for the first time. Sirius grinned. "Sirius, this must have cost-"

"Lots," Sirius said, shrugging. "But I got a good deal because I bought all three at the same time."

"You actually went in to buy them?" Remus asked faintly. Spending that amount of money in one lot was bound to have attracted quite a bit of attention. And the last thing Sirius needed was attention.

"I was disguised as Ludo Bagman," Sirius said, grinning, as crossed the sitting room; Harry was already waiting by the door. Remus laughed and admired the golden writing that said his broomstick was a Nimbus 1700. "No one thought it was strange at all."

They found a patch of snow that was reasonably long – just in case anyone crashed – and also quite flat, because it would make taking off and landing a bit easier. Sirius talked Harry through the broom-bonding process – Harry's broom shot into his hand the moment he said 'up', which Remus thought boded well for the rest of the afternoon – while Remus bonded his own broomstick.

It had been so long since he'd flown; his mother hadn't let him fly as a boy and it was James and Sirius who'd taught him how in first year. He hadn't flown since his Order days, but when he hovered on the Nimbus – which was much sturdier than he remembered his old Cleansweep being – it felt good.

"What model do you have, Harry?" Remus asked, as Sirius looked over Harry's grip with a critical eye.

"Galaxy," Sirius answered. "And that's good, kiddo." Remus frowned.

"A Galaxy? I thought they stopped making those years ago, after that player died-"

"They haven't been as popular since then," Sirius said ruefully, as Harry paled. "It's the git's own fault for using one in a league game. They're good brooms – nice and light, brilliant for manoeuvres, and bloody quick – but they're not game brooms." Harry still looked unsure. "You'll be fine, kiddo," Sirius said. "Everyone has to start somewhere, and Moony and I will make sure nothing goes wrong."

Remus mounted his broom while Sirius helped Harry and then they both hovered nearby while Sirius had Harry rise slowly – only to about six feet off the ground - and hover. Harry looked comfortable enough, but still a little nervous.

"You're doing well," Remus said encouragingly. "Now lean forward slightly and you'll move forward. If you want to stop-"

"Lean back," Sirius finished. "But not too hard, or you'll do a flip and panic."

Flanked by Sirius and Remus, Harry managed to fly forward, stop and then do a slow turn. Both men stayed close to his sides to make sure he stayed on, though he seemed to be coping.

After another fifteen minutes of slow, low-level flying, Sirius deemed Harry capable of flying without them pinned to his sides; Remus and Sirius shot up until they were at least thirty feet and Harry, surprisingly, followed. Sirius did a lazy loop backwards and then pulled to a stop beside Remus.

"Bludger," he said, prodding Remus' shoulder, and then he was off; it was a game they'd played for years – particularly when they'd had odd numbers, or only two of them were able to be there. The aim was to catch the other person and touch them – which made them the Bludger. Most people stopped playing before they reached Hogwarts but James and Sirius had played all through their Hogwarts years – James had even incorporated the game into Quidditch trainings – and sometimes added rules; one-handed flying, side-seated position and time-limits were ways of keeping it interesting. It was how Remus had learned to fly.

"Help me catch him," he said to Harry, who was sitting astride his Galaxy, looking perplexed. Remus didn't wait for a response before zooming after Sirius; Harry would follow at his own pace.

Harry's own pace turned out to be alarmingly quick; he shot past Remus like a bullet, headed directly for Sirius. Remus urged his broom to go faster, just in case; Harry was probably feeling overconfident, given how well he'd done so far. Sirius glanced back and his eyes widened comically before he swept around in a large arc to throw Harry off. Remus flew toward Sirius – who was now coming right for him – only to have Harry appear out of nowhere and tap Sirius' shoulder.

Sirius tapped him back immediately, and then Harry seemed to understand; Harry tapped him once more and pelted off at breakneck speed, laughing madly. Sirius and Remus exchanged a look and Remus took off after Harry – away from Sirius, who was kind enough to give him a few seconds to get ahead.

Harry, however, didn't seem to need any help at all. Sirius had been right when he said the Galaxy was fast and brilliant for manoeuvres; Harry managed to dodge every one of Sirius' half-hearted touches until they were no longer half-hearted. Remus knew the instant Sirius started playing properly, but Harry didn't seem to have noticed; he twisted his broom out of the way of Sirius' reach and then corkscrewed upwards. Sirius flew after him and Remus, realising he was well outmatched, returned to the ground to get a better view.

What followed was probably the most impressive aerodynamic display Remus had ever seen; Sirius had been a good player – maybe even good enough to play for the league if not for Aurors and the Order – and seemed to have retained most of his skills, despite Azkaban. Harry was a natural – obviously something that he'd inherited from James – and Remus thought he'd seemed so slow to begin with was because he'd been smothered by Remus and Sirius' hovering.

Without them pinned to his sides, Harry had unlimited space and nothing to hold him back. Sirius obviously had the better broomstick and years of experience to call upon but in the end, it wasn't enough; in an attempt to throw Sirius, Harry dove straight down at a dangerously fast pace and Sirius – being Sirius – followed.

Remus had his wand out, ready to cast a Cushioning Charm but remembered in time that he couldn't, without setting off the Trace. He watched helplessly as Harry plummeted – even Sirius had snapped out of his competitive mode and was still following, but was much slower and looking concerned – and then, just when Remus winced, Harry pulled up sharply only inches from the ground.

It was a near thing; the front of his broom snagged a few blades of grass, and Harry wobbled but managed to stay on and upright. Next thing Remus knew, he'd zoomed up in a spiralling pattern and Remus relaxed, though his heart still seemed to be in his throat. Sirius wasn't going fast enough to pull out of the dive properly, and so he pulled up and did a practiced roll off, landing on the snow beside Remus.

"Unbelievable," Remus said, looking up at Harry. "James couldn't have pulled that off."

"James could've with the right broom," Sirius said, but he looked impressed. "Should've known he'd be a natural when his grip was right straight away."

"Should've," Remus agreed.

"Padfoot?" In a blur that made Remus tense up again, Harry was down and hovering at head-level, looking worried. "Are you all right?"

"Come here," Sirius said, waving Harry over. Harry complied instantly, obviously concerned. "Closer." Harry moved forward a little bit. Sirius reached out an arm and Remus knew what was coming before it did. Apparently, so did Harry; the moment Sirius touched his arm with a smug, "Bludger", Harry touched him right back and launched himself into the sky.

Sirius swore and flopped back onto the snow, laughing. They both watched as Harry flew around up high and then Remus turned to Sirius.

"Reckon he'll play when he gets to school?"

"If he flies like that I don't think he'll have a choice," Sirius said, grinning. "Old Minnie'll strap him to a broom herself."

"Do you really think so?" Remus asked, sobering.

"Well, yes," Sirius said. "You know what she's like-"

"Not that. What if Harry's not in Gryffindor?"

"Then she'll probably give him detentions during tryouts," Sirius said, but he looked thoughtful. "Why? Don't you think he will be?"

"I don't know," Remus said, watching as Harry twisted mid-loop and zoomed off in the opposite direction. "I think he will be, but surely you've thought about it-"

"'Course I have," Sirius said, drawing patterns in the snow. It had started to look vaguely like the Hogwarts coat of arms by the time Sirius spoke again. "I want him to be in Gryffindor... but if he's not-"

"Would you be disappointed?" Remus asked.

"A bit," Sirius said. "Not with him, just about the fact that he won't get to see the common room, or have Minnie as a Head of House..."

"Same," Remus admitted. "Not with him, but just..."

"With the situation," Sirius finished. "Yeah. But the Sorting Hat knows what it's doing; it put me in Gryffindor, didn't it?" Remus nodded, though the question had been rhetorical. "It'll put him where he belongs, and if that's Slytherin, well, good for him. He's still my godson and I'll still want him and look after him if he-"

"-has Snape for a Head of House," Remus finished.

"Urgh, I'd forgotten that," Sirius said. "But yes, even then." Remus glanced at Sirius out of the corner of his eye; Sirius was watching Harry fly around with an affectionate smile on his face. It was the look James had worn when he found out Lily was pregnant. Remus turned away before Sirius saw him smiling. Sirius thought, had obviously smelled it. "What?" he asked.

"Nothing," Remus said.

"What?" Sirius insisted, flicking snow at him.

"Padfoot, you git!" Remus laughed, wiping snow off his face. "Nothing."

"Sod off, Moony, it wasn't nothing."

"Was so," Remus said, flinging a clump of snow at Sirius. If his him on the side of the head and Sirius yelped when it made contact with his ear.

"... hear people?"

Sirius - who'd gathered an enormous clump of snow that was probably destined for Remus' face – froze, and so did Remus.

"I thought I did," a familiar voice said. "He's not supposed to be here, though."

"Where else would he be?" a man's voice asked.

"I thought he was away at the moment," Dora said.

"Harry!" Remus hissed, thankful that Harry was flying low at the moment and could hear him. "Forest! Now!"

Harry didn't question it; he took off at his fastest pace yet. Next to Remus, Sirius was fidgeting; the second Harry reached the treeline, Sirius shrunk his broomstick and stuffed it into his pocket.

"Remus?"

Remus didn't say anything to her, but he heard a thump near the door. He was just thankful they'd chosen a place to fly that wasn't easily seen from any of the windows.

The door opened a moment later and Remus looked around for Sirius, but all he could see was a familiar, shaggy black dog making its slow way toward the forest.

"Remus!" Dora exclaimed, and then stopped. The man she was with stopped too. "What is that?"

"Stray dog," Remus said, surreptitiously trying to clear Sirius' imprint in the snow with his shoe. "Maybe even a wolf. Things wander out of the forest all the time."

"No," Dora said, "I mean _that_." She was pointing at his Nimbus and looked impressed.

"Oh," he said. "It was a Christmas present."

"You've got a good friend somewhere," she commented.

"A very good friend," he agreed.

"A Nimbus 1700," her friend commented. "Not quite as good as the Cleansweep Five but it's decent." Dora gave him an incredulous look.

"Not quite as..." Dora muttered. "You're kidding, aren't you? This is supposed to be the best broom out there!" Her friend look sulky, and Dora looked faintly annoyed; her hair was a reddish orange and clashed with – the red jumper he'd given her. He was amused to see her wearing it, but it did look festive against her green skin. Keith opened his mouth – quite possibly to argue further – but Dora talked over him. "How does it fly?" she asked.

"Brilliantly," Remus said. "You're welcome to try it. Either of you," he added.

"Really?" Despite what he'd just said, Keith looked rather excited by the prospect.

"Go ahead," Remus said.

Keith set the broom down and said, "Up." It shot right into his hand and he mounted it. He grinned at Dora and shot into the sky. He was a good flyer, but Remus thought he'd have been more impressed if he hadn't just seen a nine year old who was quite possibly a _better_ flyer.

Dora pulled out her wand and cast an Impervius Charm on the back of her jeans. Remus hadn't been able to do one on himself with Harry around and so he'd probably be quite damp when he got up.

"Does he play?" Remus asked.

Dora nodded as she sat down and said, "Locally at the moment but he's trying out for the Tornados in July."

"Is something wrong?" Remus asked. Dora looked over at him and pulled a face.

"Is it that obvious?"

"You smell... off."

"Oh," she said. When she thought Remus wasn't looking, she sniffed her arm. When he chuckled, her hair turned a vivid pink and so did her face. "I was just seeing if I could- stop laughing!" He might have stopped if she hadn't been laughing too.

"So is everything all right?" he asked, when they'd both calmed down.

"Training was a disaster," she sighed. "Keith insisted on coming with me, even though I _told_ him he wouldn't be able to watch. Mad-Eye was furious that I'd even brought him, and he made him wait in the Atrium until we'd finished the lesson. And then there was the party," she said ruefully. "He didn't really know anyone and the prat felt threatened by Melvin and Ben-" She said this with equal amounts of exasperation and affection. "- seemed to think _I'd _feel threatened if he talked to Florence and then McKinnon..." She shook her head. "I'm sort of grateful she was there." She smiled sheepishly. "Keith started to make a disparaging comment about Mad-Eye and she pounced... She was ruthless, actually. I'd probably have been _nicer_ about it, but he got the point pretty quickly..."

Remus had spent enough time around Sirius – who had often been on the receiving end of a telling off by Marlene – to feel a stab of sympathy for Keith. He also knew, however, that – while she was often blunt – Marlene was very rarely unjustified in what she said. As such, Remus could do much more than grimace.

"So how's your Christmas been?" Dora asked in a forcedly cheerful voice.

"Good, actually," Remus said, a little apologetically. Dora laughed.

"I have something for you," she added, swinging her rucksack over her shoulder. She unzipped it and handed over a parcel wrapped in rainbow paper. It was so very Dora that Remus couldn't help smiling.

"Thank you," he said, tearing the paper off. Several shapeless lumps fell out. Three turned out to be socks, which Remus was badly in need of; Dora, of course, was perfectly aware of that because she had access to his clothing at the moment. Another was a simple grey t-shirt.

"It looks good on you," she said, grinning at him. Remus laughed and unfolded the last. Four books toppled out, but he ignored those for the time being. It was a navy jumper and was so ridiculously soft that Remus had to resist the urge to put it on there and then. "That's to make up for the one I stole," she told him.

"It was a present," he said, gesturing to the jumper in question.

"It was bribery," she told him. "Remember? But I still felt bad. Here." She picked up the four books that he'd dropped. Remus laughed. _The Three Little Pigs, Little Red Riding Hood_, _The Wolf And The Seven Kids _and the popular wizarding fairytale _The Wolf And The Mooncalf_ were the books she'd bought.

_She really doesn't mind_, he realised, grinning.

"Thank you," he said again, referring to both the presents and the way she was handling the knowledge of his condition.

"No problem," she said, seeming to understand.

"_Accio_," he said, flicking his wand at his cottage. And then, because he didn't want a book-sized hole in his house, he added, "_Aperio._" The front door opened in time and the present he'd had Sirius pick up on his behalf zoomed into his hand, narrowly missing Keith, who'd chosen that moment to fly low. Remus passed it to Dora without further ado and she tore into it with enthusiasm to rival Sirius'. Her enthusiasm was not diminished when she saw what it was; a heavy, leather-bound book.

"_Human Chameleon_," she said, tracing the embossed title. Her eyes were enormous and her hair was the brightest yellow Remus had ever seen it go. "Remus," she whispered, flipping to the contents page, "where in Merlin's name did you find this?"

"Would you believe me if I told you that a friend of mine bought it from a banshee?" That earned him a laugh; he didn't think she did believe him. "You don't have it, do you?"

"Have it-?" she choked. "No, of course I don't! Remus, there were only ten copies ever made! I've read books_about_ this book!"

"I thought you might find it useful," he said, smiling. "Matt chipped in-" And so had Sirius and Harry, because it really was a rare and very expensive book. "-because you've done so much for us..." Sirius had just wanted to buy her something, since his time in Azkaban had taken away his ability to do so for several years. "-this whole Malfoy thing's just been mad-"

"I can learn so much from this," she said, hugging the book to her chest. "They haven't been able to find me a teacher for the Special Skill in the Program, but with this... notes from other Metamorphmagi... I can teach myself! Thank you! Thank you, thank you, _thank you_!" She beamed and carefully cast a Hover Charm on the book; she obviously didn't want it damaged by the snow. Once that had been done to her satisfaction, Remus found himself in possession of an armful of deliriously happy Dora.

"I feel bad for just getting you clothes and books now," she said thickly, into the side of his arm.

"No, I like what you bought me," he assured her. "They- Are you crying?" he asked incredulously, trying to get a look at her face; all he could see was her sunny hair.

"No," she said, sniffing as she pulled back. She wiped her cheeks on her sleeve and then added, "Well, maybe a little bit."

* * *

Charlie opened the kitchen window and gulped in a few breaths of fresh air; Fred and George hadn't been able to get whatever it was they'd been trying with the Christmas crackers to work, and had set a dungbomb off under Great-Aunt Muriel's chair to make up for it. The entire kitchen stank like-

"- should know better! I like a joke as much as the next person but you've taken it too far this time! It's absolutely disgraceful behav- Would you _stop laughing, Bilius!_"

Uncle Bilius attempted to smother a laugh – he did this by stuffing his fist into his mouth. Everyone at the table – except for Muriel (who'd left in a fit of rage), Mum and Percy - snickered.

Dad seemed to sense the danger and stood, with a hasty, "Have I shown you my plug collection, Bilius?" Uncle Bilius leapt to his feet and followed Dad out. Charlie made to follow but Mum's eyes landed on him and he couldn't bring himself to go through with it.

He sat, instead, while Mum continued to shout at Fred and George: "-inappropriate! I have _never-_"

"I dunno, Mum-" Fred said thoughtfully.

"-I think it was pretty appropriate-" George chimed, nodding at Fred.

"The old bat had it coming," Fred said, entirely unrepentant.

"She's just lucky it was only the one. We've got another three upstairs-"

Charlie felt the colour drain from his face; next to him, Bill had gone an odd, greyish colour. Both stood simultaneously. Charlie grabbed Ron while Bill threw Ginny over his shoulder and Percy was already at the bottom of the stairs.

They made it to Ginny's room – something she complained about as she dangled over Bill – when Mum exploded. Percy slammed the door shut and fell against it, his glasses slightly askew. Charlie put Ron down and Bill tossed a squealing Ginny onto her bed. Charlie found a comfortable patch of floor, where he was immediately leapt upon by Ginny - he tickled her until she went away – and joined by Ron, who'd found a deck of Exploding Snap cards.

Bill and Percy – who'd been talking in low voices by the door – joined them and they played several rounds before Mum – who'd calmed down considerably, came to fetch them for pudding.

Fred and George were nowhere to be seen and Dad was back and whispered to them all - while Mum was conveniently at the counter and out of earshot - that Uncle Bilius had gone home and wished them all a happy Christmas. The smell of dungbombs lingered, seeming to fuel Mum's irritation every time she took a breath. She sliced the pudding a little too forcefully and the colour in her cheeks refused to drain out.

Bill seemed to have noticed this, and while Dad and Ginny were clearing the table, turned to Charlie and said, "What was it that you wanted to tell Mum, Charlie?"

Charlie knew it was a challenge, a dare and he knew that – no matter what he did now, he'd lose; if he said nothing, Bill would certainly share his news and Charlie'd be the one telling her that she was losing _two_ sons. However, telling Mum about Romania when she was in this sort of mood could have potentially fatal consequences.

Unlike Bill, Charlie wasn't smart – and he was aware of that – but he liked to think he was slightly braver than Bill. And, because he was brave, not smart, Charlie reached into his pocket and produced his letter for Mum to read.


	37. The Fight

_Lupin, _

_I require your conclusion on the trustworthiness of my Surrey search team members and several hours of your time to present my own findings on those in your team. I will be at the Leaky Cauldron at 2pm tomorrow. Kindly arrive on time._

_Lucius Malfoy._

Tonks scrawled a hasty 'thank you' to Remus - who'd probably had to go home to get Strix so that he could send this to her – all the while cursing the excellent tracking skills of Malfoy's ruddy owl. Strix gave Canis – who was coiled on Tonks' pillow – a cool look before holding his leg out for her to attach the letter to. He hooted once and launched himself out of the window and into the sky.

She closed the window and watched him disappear into the clouds - at least until she remembered that she was supposed to be getting ready for training. She hastily swapped Matt's jumper and jeans – Lucius had been inspecting 'Matt' today - with her own torn jeans and a Weird Sisters t-shirt. She was just pulling on socks when a tap on the window startled her.

She fell off her bed, knocking her elbow on her bedside table on the way down. Muttering curses at Canis, who'd started to purr, she got up to let Helga in.

"Hi, girl," she said. Helga – Keith's screech owl – swooped past her to perch on the back of Tonks' desk chair; Tonks had stopped hanging clothes there after Helga's sharp claws destroyed her Harpies jumper.

Tonks used her reflection in the window to choose a face for the night; blue hair, red eyes and freckles. The transformation only took her a few seconds – she'd been studying _Human Chameleon_ at every spare moment since Christmas (though there hadn't been many, what with training, Keith, her three lives in the search and saying goodbye to Tom and Charlie, who'd left for Romania the day before last...) – but apparently it was too long for Helga. She didn't like being ignored. She hopped up and down, flapping her wings and hooting madly.

While Tonks wasn't overly fond of Helga, she didn't really want her eaten either; Canis had stood, stretched and prowled forward to sit on the edge of Tonks' bed. And, while he was small, Tonks had no doubt that Canis would come out as the victor.

She sighed and took the letter and Helga immediately chirped happily and settled down. Canis sat, tail twitching, as his eyes flicked between Tonks and Helga.

_I miss you so much. Can't wait for tomorrow. Love you._

_Keith._

Tonks stared at Keith's messy writing, not sure whether she felt more shocked, horrified or happy. She flopped back onto her bed. Canis hissed and darted out of the room.

"Bloody Malfoy," she muttered; thanks to him, she'd no longer be able to get to Keith's Quidditch game. They'd been planning to have dinner afterward, to make up for not having seen each other since Christmas... but that couldn't happen anymore.

She groaned and grabbed a piece of parchment and a quill and wrote a lengthy apology letter; she filled about four inches – with reasonably small writing – but didn't actually manage to say much; she obviously couldn't give him a proper reason so the majority of the letter consisted of apologies and wishing him luck for the game tomorrow. She sent if off with Helga and sighed again, looking at the letter for a different reason; Keith had said he loved her.

That made her happy – who didn't like to be told they were loved? – but it also worried her; they'd been dating six months, yes, but she didn't think she was ready to say it back. Would he expect her to? Would it upset him when she didn't?

_Oh, Merlin_, she thought, flinging an arm over her face. _Why does everything have to be so hard? _She did her best to shove those thoughts to the back of her head; she was too tired to think about it right now – too tired to think about much at all, really – and forced herself to get up. It was so very tempting to just pull her blankets over and go to sleep. She missed sleep.

_But if I sleep now, Mad-Eye will show up to drag me there. _She pulled on her rucksack, which had a pair of Remus' clothes in it for tomorrow, and also an outfit for her to wear as Tock. _It's easier if I just go._

Hopefully she'd sleep tonight... assuming Mad-Eye let her; she was staying at his house - ready for an early training session – but the last few times she'd stayed over, he'd crept into her room at some Merlin-cursed hour and woken her up with a shouted, 'Constant vigilance!'

Mum had spoken to the goblins at work and had them teach her an Anti-Apparition Charm, which Tonks hadn't yet been able to remove; it was Mum's not-so-subtle way of telling her to use the door instead of Apparating straight in.

Mum called her into the kitchen as she made her way to the front door; she was sitting at the table, staring at a neatly wrapped present, and holding a small, worn piece of parchment.

_Andy, _it said; Tonks had read it - and had it read to her - many times.

_Merry Christmas._

_Cissy._

The present had arrived on the morning of the day after Christmas – Dad was in Ireland with work and Mum was too afraid to open it without him there, though Tonks had offered to sit with her, or even open it for her. Poor Mum was convinced there was a secret message hidden in the brief letter and had spent ages reading and re-reading the stupid thing. Dad was due home tomorrow, thankfully, and Tonks hoped he could talk some sense into Mum; Merlin knew _she'd_ had no luck.

"Are you sleeping here tonight?" Mum asked.

Tonks shook her head and said, "Mad-Eye's." Mum watched her for a moment and then stood and pulled her into a hug. Tonks hugged her back, a little bewildered. "Are you all right?"

"You look tired, dear," Mum said, looking at her face. Tonks altered her features and Mum frowned. "If they're working you too hard at the Ministry, I don't have a problem with going to talk to them-"

"No," Tonks said, letting her head rest against Mum's shoulder. "It's not the Ministry, it's other... things."

"Like?" Mum asked archly, releasing her.

_Like pretending to be Remus and Matt and Tock._ She'd take on the burden again in a heartbeat but she honestly couldn't wait for Malfoy to sack 'Remus' – and wishing for that to happen made her feel exceptionally guilty – so that she'd be able to have some more time to herself; 'Remus' investigation was going slower than she'd predicted, or maybe 'he' was doing such good work that Malfoy's decided to not to fire 'him'. She couldn't say anything about that to Mum, though; Mad-Eye, Remus and herself were the only ones who knew about the search, and she and Remus were the only ones who knew about her pretending to be him and Matt.

"Just... stuff," she said lamely.

"Well," Mum said, "if 'stuff' doesn't settle down, I'll dose you up with a Sneezing Solution and make you stay home."

"You'd make me sick?" Tonks demanded.

"If I had to," Mum said, folding her arms. Tonks made a mental note to start checking her food for spells and potions like Mad-Eye did. "Now, go to work, get a good night's sleep and I'll see you after Keith's game tomorrow night." Tonks' insides squirmed with guilt about Keith again, but she didn't correct Mum; Mum could believe she was still going to see him – it was certainly easier than trying to explain that she was working again.

"How can you be so bossy now, but not be able to open a present from your sister?" Tonks wondered aloud. Mum's grey eyes narrowed and Tonks, recognising the danger signs said, "Well, I'm off. See you tomorrow, love you!" and bolted from the room and out the front door.

* * *

"I can't-" Florence gasped, struggling to get out of Tonks' grip. "Tonks, let go."

"Nice try," Tonks said cheerfully.

"I'm serious!" Florence shouted. The other trainees - who were grappling with their opponents nearby – looked over. "Let _go_."

A little surprised, and a little put off by everyone staring, Tonks released her hold on Florence. Florence sank to the ground, shaking, and Tonks was alarmed to see how pale she was. Tonks helped her over to the side of the room, where they wouldn't be in anyone's way, and crouched down beside her. Florence's face was scrunched up and she was hugging herself.

"What's wrong?" Tonks asked worriedly. She looked up for Mad-Eye, hoping he might be able to help her but he was following another Auror out of the room, looking irritated. "Are you feeling sick?"

"What do you think?" Florence snapped.

"When did it start?" Tonks asked, refusing to be deterred; she was often grumpy when she was sick too.

"I've been feeling off all day," Florence said, shivering. "It's getting worse, though..." Tonks put a hand on her forehead which was sweaty and quite warm.

"Do you want to see the Healer or something?"

"No," Florence said, "I think I'm probably just tired."

"It could be whatever Ben's got," Tonks said; they hadn't seen him for a few days, but Shacklebolt had told Finch who'd told Florence and Melvin who'd told Tonks that he was really sick.

"I really hope not," Florence groaned. "Do you know if Ben ever felt like he'd been trampled by a Hippogriff?"

"No, I don't," Tonks said, smothering a laugh at Florence's dramatic response. Florence seemed to know, because her eyes narrowed. "Would you like me to take you home?"

"I'm sick, not crippled," Florence muttered. "But thanks for the offer." Tonks smiled and stood back as Florence stood – which seemed to take a lot of effort – and walked over to Auror Finch. A short conversation later, Florence walked out clutching her head.

Tonks joined Edwards and McKinnon – the first she managed to throw off with a bit of effort – Edwards was very tall and quite solid – but she had no luck against McKinnon. Both of them were able to throw her off with ease.

"So who taught you to wrestle?" Tonks asked McKinnon as they retrieved their rucksacks from the corner of the room.

"I had an older brother," McKinnon said, with a very small, distant smile. Tonks stared; McKinnon _never_ spoke about her family. The reason for that, though, was reasonably obvious now; it hadn't escaped Tonks' notice that McKinnon had said 'had'. "And some rather exuberant friends. I also played Quidditch and did some other... work... when I was about your age." Tonks knew better than to ask about that – she knew she wouldn't be given any details – but she knew it was something to do with the war, and that Remus had been included in whatever it was. She wondered, absently, how he was doing, and if he'd got her 'thank you' letter yet.

Tonks and McKinnon left the _Defensive and Offensive Combat_ room together; Mad-Eye still wasn't back, so Tonks figured he was waiting for her upstairs. The stairs that led up to the broom cupboard exit were crowded like always, but unusually, the crowd didn't seem to be moving.

"Augustus? What's going on?" McKinnon asked, snapping her fingers to get the attention of one of the Aurors.

"He's got his wand out!" someone said eagerly; Tonks thought it might have been Lori Patel.

"Moody's going to destroy him!" Michael Brown said, beaming.

"Excuse me! Sorry, Trixia, excuse me." The crowd rippled and slowly parted to let Melvin through. "Tonks!" he said, when he saw her. "I think you should see this-"

"What's happening?" McKinnon asked sharply.

"Her- Sorry, _your_ boyfriend's here," Melvin said.

"Keith?" Tonks said stupidly.

Melvin was too polite to say anything and just nodded, but McKinnon rolled her eyes and said, "Who else could he be talking about? He's the only one, isn't he?"

"What in Godric's name is he doing _here?_" Then, worried that something might be wrong, Tonks started to squeeze through the crowd. Melvin was saying something to McKinnon in a low voice. "Excuse me, sorry, excuse me- MOVE!" Edwards shuffled out of the way, but most of the others were still milling around. "_Parva Digitum Omnia,"_ she muttered, flicking her wand. The entire mob – herself, McKinnon and Melvin included, unfortunately, due to her non-specific casting – wobbled and then fell as one, with a loud screech. Tonks merely grew her toes back and hopped over the other Aurors and trainees. "Sorry," she said, wincing when she saw Scrimgeour had been caught by the hex too.

She could hear loud voices in the hallway; one was certainly Mad-Eye's and if Melvin was right, the other belonged to Keith. She didn't think she's ever heard him shout before.

"- right to keep me from going down-"

"I have every right, boy! You-"

Tonks shoved the partially open door and tripped through it. Keith – and it was him – tucked his wand away and ran forward to help her up. Mad-Eye watched them, frowning.

"Wotcher," she said dazedly. "What are you doing here?"

"Breaking and entering," Mad-Eye growled.

"I came to see you," Keith said, shooting Mad-Eye an angry look. "And then I got intercepted by Moody-"

"_Auror_ Moody," Mad-Eye snapped. Tonks gave him a dark look. "-and if I hadn't intercepted him-"

"I was only-"

"Shut up!" Tonks yelled. "Talk one at a time-"

"I'll go first," Keith said instantly. "So-"

"Not here!" Tonks said. She grabbed Keith's hand and Mad-Eye's arm and led them both down the hall and into Mad-Eye's cubicle. "Do you two have any idea how much of a scene you were causing?"

"_He_ was causing the scene!" Keith said, pointing at Mad-Eye, who folded his arms and said nothing. "I came to see you-"

"What about?"

"This," Keith said, pulling out the note she'd written him that afternoon. "You didn't even give me a reason, you just said you can't do something that's been planned for days." Tonks sighed.

"Then what?"

Keith looked troubled that she'd changed the subject but said, "Then I tried to go down to see you but an Auror told me I couldn't, so I asked her to get you for me but she came back with _him_ and he wouldn't let me talk to you and he refused to take a message to you."

"Of course he did," she said, confused about why that was a problem. "I was in a lesson."

"I'm your boyfriend!"

"I'm her teacher," Mad-Eye growled. He frowned, suddenly, pulled out his Sidekick, and then snorted and shoved it back into his pocket.

"He could have let you out to talk to me," Keith said, giving Mad-Eye another angry look.

"I was in a lesson," she said again still not sure why he was so worked up. "That letter isn't about anything so urgent that you couldn't have waited for a few minutes." Keith's brown eyes widened.

"I can't believe you're taking his side!" he said furiously.

"I was in a lesson! If you want to talk, that's fine, but I wouldn't expect you to call time in a Quidditch game just because I wanted a word-"

"But I would," he said, looking hurt. Mad-Eye made an odd sound.

"Look, Mad-Eye was probably grumpy-" Mad-Eye growled and Tonks rolled her eyes. "- and maybe a bit blunt but I don't think he was being unreasonable by asking you to wait-"

"He didn't ask me to wait! He told me to go home!" Tonks gave Mad-Eye an exasperated look, but he didn't seem to care.

"I said I'd tell her you stopped by," Mad-Eye said, "and give her the choice of following it up."

"I have every right to be here," Keith said angrily.

"Actually-" Tonks started, wincing.

"I can't believe you're siding against me!"

"Keith, I'm just-"

Keith shook his head. "I'll owl you, okay?" he said, sounding hurt, and left.

"Okay," she said quietly. She wanted to run after him but she knew that would probably make things worse; he'd want her to apologise, and while she was sorry for upsetting him, she wouldn't change anything if she had the chance to do so. Her hair – which had been orange – turned a pale blue and she flopped down into Mad-Eye's desk chair, suddenly feeling very tired. Mad-Eye gave her an uneasy look, as if he expected her to shout at him. She wanted to, but her rational side knew it wouldn't help much and that she'd probably feel even worse afterward.

"It takes a special person to date a trainee," Mad-Eye said after a long silence.

"What?" she croaked, looking up at him.

"Dating's tricky for normal people," he said awkwardly. "We're not normal people. We work long hours and we study technical branches of magic that most people struggle with and we're always in danger. That's not easy for a partner to handle."

"That makes me feel better," she muttered, rolling her eyes. Mad-Eye limped over to the spare seat just inside the door and sat down.

"It wasn't supposed to," he said in the gentlest growl she'd ever heard him use. "It was supposed to make you see sense."

"So... what? Keith's not special?" she asked hotly.

"That's not what I meant," Mad-Eye said, sounding tired. He opened his hipflask, sniffed the inside and took a sip. "He plays Quidditch?"

"Yes," Tonks said tentatively.

"But not professionally? And he doesn't work?"

"He trains a younger team-"

"Doesn't count," Mad-Eye said. "Point it, he's got too much time, and you've got too little. I've had a few trainees in my time and those that dated people who _lasted _were usually with someone who was also training for something. That way, the other person's got a distraction when things are busy-"

"Like what?" Tonks asked. Mad-Eye lifted a scarred hand and began to count his fingers.

"I had one girl who dated a professional Quidditch player, two boys who've dated Healers and one girl who dated a boy in the Department of Mysteries. And there was another boy who had... they never called it dating but it was obvious to everyone else... she was involved in the war effort."

"So... what? Keith and I won't last unless he becomes a Healer?" she asked flatly. "That's rubbish-"

"At the moment, he's got too much time and not enough maturity to handle dating a trainee. He thinks of you as a normal person and you're not normal. You're a trainee. You're not better or worse, but you're different and the sooner he realises that and either learns to live with it or decides he can't, the better things will be for both of you." Tonks couldn't argue with the fact that she was different and she didn't like the rest of what he'd said but she suspected it was true.

"You could make things easier for him, you know," she said. "Maybe if you were nice-"

"I'm mean to everyone," Mad-Eye said, gingerly placing his Sidekick on his desk.

"Not to me," Tonks said, and Mad-Eye's mouth twitched.

"All partners, then."

"All of them?" Tonks asked miserably.

"Except two," Mad-Eye amended.

"Why?" Tonks asked, smiling slightly.

"They were special," he said quietly.

"Who were they?" she asked.

"One was a Healer... I think I've told you about Evans before." Tonks nodded. "I don't think the other would want to be named."

"Why not?" Mad-Eye just shook his head and glanced at his Sidekick. "You should probably open that," she said. Mad-Eye gave her an unhappy look and muttered the opening phrase.

"AUROR MOODY!" Scrimgeour bellowed.

"Scrimgeour?" Moody growled. "What can I help you with?"

"Find your trainee and bring her to the broom cupboard," Scrimgeour said, sounding milder now that Mad-Eye had responded. Tonks shrank in her seat and Mad-Eye gave her a thoughtful look. "There are twenty people that need to be set right."

"You can't fix whatever she's done?" Mad-Eye asked.

"I'm sure we could but as you're aware, Moody, human transfiguration is something that needs to be dealt with carefully and I'd like to get home at a reasonable hour."

"More importantly," Mad-Eye said loudly. "How was she even able to land her spell?"

"We weren't expecting-"

"CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" Mad-Eye boomed and then in his normal voice, "We're coming."

* * *

Moony whimpered and stretched out on his bed, waiting for the last of the pain to fade. It did, slowly, burning as it went, but finally he was able to handle moving. He stepped off the bed and over to the bathroom, where Remus had thought to leave a bowl of water; transforming often made him thirsty.

Moony used the floor space to stretch again, which got rid of the last of the pain, then looked around for his packmate, but his packmate wasn't there. He whined and then growled. Maybe his packmate was planning to leave again. Maybe Moony would be alone again. Moony's tail fell between his legs and he wedged himself under the bed and curled up.

Moony had just started to bite his own forelegs – partially out of boredom and partially out of anger at his packmate for leaving him - when pair of big, grey-brown paws appeared in his doorway. Moony pinned his ears back and growled.

It was the owner of the scent that was all over this place. Remus didn't like the scent, and Moony didn't either, though Moony had more respect for the alpha than Remus did. Alphas – even bad alphas – should be followed. The alpha peered under the bed and huffed at Moony, before baring his teeth: _Come out, or I'll make you._

Moony wriggled out and the alpha inspected the damage to his legs. Moony was inspecting the damage that Remus had done; one of the alpha's ears, his tail and one of his shoulders were bald. They stared at each other for a long time and then the alpha huffed again and Moony averted his eyes.

Another huff – this one followed by a bark – and Moony knew to follow. The alpha led him into the big room where Remus spent most of his time and then outside, where Remus came and left from. Other wolves were there, but not Moony's packmate.

He bounced up to one black wolf and smelled her too late; she turned around and snapped at him. He snorted at her and went to inspect another who was dark furred and about the right size. This time, he took care to smell first. It was a packmate – the man-boy that Remus spent time with – though not the one Moony'd been looking for. He nudged the pup's flank.

The pup started and growled at him. Moony whined and the pup's ears pricked up. He trotted forward, tail wagging, to lick Moony's ear. Moony's tongue lolled out and he sat patiently as the pup inspected his hurt legs and then took his turn inspecting a painful smelling cut on the pup's back.

Both sat down in the snow under a tree – pressed against each other for warmth – and watched as the rest of their pack socialised. The younger pups frolicked in the snow and followed the alpha around, while the older wolves had killed a hare and were fighting over scraps. Several of the elders were sleeping, though a pale golden wolf was alert and looking around.

When she spotted Moony and the pup, she extracted herself and made her way over. Moony's hackles rose and he and the pup stood, ready, but they needn't have worried. Once she got closer, Moony recognised her smell. She was the elder that Remus and the pup took care of. Even as a wolf, she still smelled of the outside world; she'd only arrived that morning. He greeted her and she greeted him back shyly, before repeating the same greeting with the pup.

The three of them settled down again and things were relatively peaceful, at least until the alpha returned. Moony thought he'd come to see how the elder was doing; the alpha barked at her and sniffed her ears – which made her look afraid – and then he backed off and came to stand before Moony instead.

Moony huffed at him and put his ears back – _go away _– but the alpha ignored the silent message. The alpha snapped and Moony yelped as pain shot through his ear. The alpha's bite wasn't playful like his packmate's often was, or even a warning. It was an assertion – _I can do whatever I like _– and Moony didn't like it. Still, Moony knew better than to retaliate; Remus might have had a chance with his wand or his wits but neither Remus or Moony had a chance in a physical fight.

Moony whined and pressed his ear against the snow to stop the stinging. The alpha made a funny noise that was a cross between a growl and a wheeze. Then he did it again. Remus would have called it laughing. Moony backed away and the alpha moved on.

The younger pups who had been following him, however, didn't. The elder took one look at them, dismissed them and licked Moony's hurt ear, surprising him. The pup growled at the younger pups and pressed himself closer to Moony and the elder.

The younger pups barked and huffed amongst each other and then advanced; the alpha had shown he had no regard for Moony, the pup or the elder and so the younger pups probably wanted to assert themselves. Moony stood – their heads only reached the underside of his chest – but there were six of them. The pup was taller than them too – they were at his shoulder – and after a moment's hesitation, the elder stood as well.

The younger pups all looked their small leader; she had a fawn coat and was known to Remus as Greentooth. To Moony she was the beta. She snorted and a spindly silver pup, an enormous one with a dark grey coat and another smaller one with russet fur extracted themselves from her pack and advanced toward the pup, who looked unnerved but held his ground.

The beta sent the other two in the elder's direction. That left her facing Moony. She bared her teeth and circled forward. Moony snapped his teeth together, warning her to stay back.

The beta didn't listen and Moony resigned himself to a fight. He bared his own teeth and prowled around, keeping her opposite him at all times, with at least two yards between them.

Moony wasn't aware of much else – he heard others growling around him but didn't know who - and it was hard to tell how long he and the beta circled each other – Moony's timekeeping abilities weren't anywhere near as good as Remus' – but eventually, the beta got bored and lunged.

Despite that, Moony was the first to cause any harm; his teeth grazed the beta's leg and she yelped. It' didn't deter her for long, though; she caught his tail and then his back leg in quick succession.

After that, it was all a blur of teeth and blood and snarling, though it was obvious to Moony that he was losing. Moony had more experience being a wolf, but he'd never fought to kill. The beta had, and had probably learned to fight from the alpha.

After a few painful – but not overly effective – bites, the beta managed to get her teeth around Moony's already-injured foreleg. He crumpled. The beta moved to stand over him.

The pup was busy with the beta's three pups, and the elder had submitted to the pups she was facing. No one was coming to help him.

The beta's stained, red muzzle and gleaming teeth moved into Moony's line of sight and then everything was black.

* * *

"Open," Padfoot said, throwing the locket at the training room wall. It hit with a dull thud – the Cushioning Charms had been destroyed when Harry blew up his Form Revealer and Padfoot hadn't put them back up yet – and bounced onto the ground. Padfoot Summoned it back into his hand and threw it again. "Open."

Harry was lying on the floor, hoping that his Animagus form would spontaneously come to him; he'd been deterred by his two failures with the Form Revealer and was reluctant to start a third. He hastily closed his eyes; watching Padfoot get angry with the locket wouldn't help.

"Open, you _stupid_-" Padfoot dropped the locket and stepped on it again and again. Harry realised he'd opened his eyes and shut them again. Everything was quiet for a moment. Unnerved, Harry opened one eye and saw Padfoot trying to prise the locket open; Padfoot had tried this many times before. "Right," Padfoot said, "I'm off, before I go mad." He threw the locket down and stalked out, muttering to himself about things to pack and how much he hated the locket.

He was back a few minutes later, rucksack in hand.

"I thought you'd gone," Harry said, rolling onto his side. Padfoot grinned.

"Seen anything yet?"

"Darkness," Harry said gloomily. "Maybe I'm a big, black dog like you." Padfoot barked a laugh and crouched to ruffle his hair.

"Or maybe you're as blind in your head as you are physically." Harry scowled. "Why don't you start on stage one while I'm gone," Padfoot suggested. "It's a better way to spend your time than meditating, I promise you."

"Maybe," Harry said reluctantly. "How long do you think you'll be tonight?"

"Dunno. Longer if I get lost," Padfoot joked.

"I thought you said the tracking spell worked," Harry said, frowning.

"It did." Padfoot made a face. "I think... It's a finicky little charm." Padfoot glanced out the window. "I need to go." He called Kreacher to take the locket away and left with a, "Stage one, kiddo."

"Fine," Harry said. "Be careful!" he added, for all the good that it would do.

* * *

Everything was black, because an enormous bundle of dark fur had just slammed into the beta and dragged her to the ground. Moony stood as quickly as he could, ready to fight again if he had to, though that didn't look likely; the beta was struggling, pinned by the front paws of Moony's packmate. For the first time ever, Moony saw her look afraid.

Padfoot snorted at her and snapped his teeth together a few inches from her face. She flinched, and the second Padfoot released her, she limped off, ears back and tail down. Her packmates stopped harassing the pup and the elder to pay attention to the new threat. Padfoot's hackles rose and he snarled. They were quick to follow the beta after that.

One of Padfoot's front paws was bloodied, but otherwise he seemed as cheerful as ever. He greeted Moony with a loud bark, while his tail danced back and forward. Moony made a whuffing noise in response and Padfoot trotted over, nose twitching. He whined at the sight of Moony's front legs – Moony wasn't too happy with the way they looked either, but Remus could deal with that later – and then his shaggy head snapped up; he'd noticed the elder and the pup. Both of them were watching with wary curiosity.

Before Moony could bark or do something to tell them that Padfoot was a packmate, Padfoot had bounced over to introduce himself.

Moony made a small, amused noise and limped over to join his packmates, truly glad – for the first time – that he hadn't stayed under Remus' bed all night.


	38. A Perspective On Problems

Since their fight at the Ministry in early January, things had been good between Tonks and Keith. She'd rushed Malfoy through his report and made it to the last half of Keith's game to surprise him, and they'd gone out to dinner to celebrate his team's win. He'd apologised for the way he behaved and she'd apologised – she wasn't entirely sure what for, but felt that he'd deserved an apology – and, with Mad-Eye's advice still lingering in her head, she'd done what she could to make things better between them.

She'd sworn him to secrecy and then, slowly over several weeks, told him what she could – and also several things she shouldn't have – about being a trainee. She told him about the Greyback case, and the legendary camp where he kept his victims. She told him how Greyback had been quiet lately, though she and Mad-Eye couldn't work out why. She told him that she was also working undercover on the Potter-Black case and that was the reason she'd been so busy lately. She didn't tell him that she'd been working for Malfoy, however, and she also didn't tell him that she'd been pretending to be _three _people instead of one, or who those people were.

In turn, he'd made an effort to be understanding when she had to cancel a date, and was also making an effort to be nicer to her friends. Unsurprisingly, he and Melvin got along swimmingly, brought together by their love of Quidditch, and Florence was less opinionated than Ben or McKinnon, who Keith tolerated and was tolerated – barely, in McKinnon's case – by.

By the end of January, life had finally settled into a routine – with the only irregularity being Malfoy's random and often inconvenient demands of Tock or Remus.

Keith was sitting beside Melvin on the couch in Tonks' sitting room – he'd been unusually quiet today, but Tonks figured he'd tell her what was bothering him eventually. Both he and Melvin were looking at _Quidditch Quarterly_ – though Melvin was supposed to be studying for the Stealth and Tracking test they had in four days. Florence and Tonks were spread out on the floor, writing revision notes.

"What are the seven ways you can track someone?" Tonks asked. "I've got sight, sound and spells, but-"

"Smell," Florence said, immediately; she'd been in Ravenclaw, after all. "Touch, by magical traces, and with Legillimency."

"That's right," Tonks said, scribbling them down. "Thanks."

"Stealth and Tracking, right?" Florence said.

"Yes," Tonks said slowly. "What about it?"

"S and T," Florence said. "Sight, sound, smell and spells and then touch, traces and telepathy."

"Telepathy?" Tonks laughed.

"Legillimency," Florence said, shrugging. She tossed her dark hair over her shoulder. "Don't ask why; I know it's wrong, but it works, so-"

"Wait, what was that?" Melvin asked.

Florence and Tonks shared a look, wordlessly deciding whether it was worth repeating. Eventually, Tonks sighed and relayed the information and Melvin nodded before his attention drifted back to the magazine.

"Name a tracking spell," Florence said. Tonks groaned; Stealth and Tracking was her weakest subject in both theoretical and practical applications.

"That one..." Tonks said vaguely, squinting into the distance as she tried to remember.

"Very helpful, thank you," Florence said, smirking. "Full marks for that-"

"You've been spending too much time with McKinnon," Tonks groaned, trying to read her notes out of the corner of her eye.

"Answer the question, Nymphadora," she goaded.

"Don't call me..." Tonks muttered darkly. Florence ignored her. "Fine. The Faux Feather Charm."

"Which...?"

"Allows one to track an owl over any distance and provides the caster with an exact set of Apparition coordinates upon the owl's return," Tonks recited.

"Disadvantages?"

"Even the simplest ward will displace the charm and render it useless," Tonks said. "Which is why it's not used much. Incantation?"

"_Sequitur Pinnam_," Florence shot back. "How's it cast?"

"Start with the wand on the owl's head and move it down the back, between the wings, stopping in line with the- Oi!" In a move almost too quick for Tonks to register, Florence had grabbed Tonks' notes and hidden them behind her back.

"You were cheating."

"Was not!"

"Stopping in line with the what, then?" Florence asked.

"The... er... the..."

"That's what I thought." Tonks snatched her notes back and poked her tongue out at Florence, who laughed. "It's the secondary coverts, in case you were interested." Tonks grimaced. "Okay, now ask me something."

"Er... name one important stealth spell."

"The Cushioning Charm," Florence said.

"How would you use it?"

"Cast it on the outsides of your clothes and the bottom of your shoes to muffle any noises you might make," she said confidently. "How would you find someone who was Disilliusioned?"

"You might be able to hear them, you might see a slight shimmer where they're standing or you could cast something like a _Homenum Revelio_ to reveal their presence," Tonks said.

"Goo-" Florence reached into her pocket and pulled out her Sidekick. Melvin had done the same. They shared a look and whispered the passwords – Keith obligingly put his fingers in his ears, as Tonks made him do whenever her Sidekick went off.

"That's odd," Melvin said. "The clock hands are just spinning around."

"Probably a panic signal if she's not somewhere she can talk... Do you have a map?" Florence asked, sitting up. Tonks grabbed a street directory off Dad's bookcase, which was in the corner of the room and brought it back. Florence muttered a few coordinates, and traced what looked like a map of London before looking up at Melvin. "That's Knockturn Alley," she said quietly.

That obviously meant something to Melvin – though not to Tonks or Keith, who exchanged confused and, in Tonks' case, worried looks.

"Lonsall?" Melvin asked. Aurors Finch and Shacklebolt had been reassigned to another case – one which Tonks knew little about – because in the eleven months Sirius had been loose, he'd made absolutely no attempt to get close to the Longbottoms.

"Must be," Florence said, getting up. She flicked her wand and all of her books and parchment stacked themselves neatly into her rucksack; Tonks watched enviously, having never been able to manage any sort of tidying charm. Melvin's things hadn't even made their way out of his rucksack before he'd been distracted by Keith's Quidditch magazine so he had little to pack up.

"Would you like me to go with you?" Tonks asked. Keith sucked in a breath.

"No," Florence said, glancing in Keith's direction; he'd let out a relieved sigh. "We'll go to the Ministry and let someone know what's going on and then work from there."

"Thanks for having us over," Melvin said. "Do you mind if we use the fireplace?"

"Of course not!" Tonks said. "Be careful, both of you, and let me know when everything's okay."

"We will," Florence said, giving her a hug, as Melvin vanished into the Floo. "I'll be in touch!"

"Be careful!" Tonks said again, as Florence vanished.

"Are they going to be okay?" Keith asked, patting the couch next to him. Tonks went and sat down, curling into his side.

"I hope so," she said, snaking an arm around his waist. "I hope Auror Finch-"

"Nymphadora," Keith said, looking unusually serious. Tonks had given up trying to correct him with her name; aside from anything else, he'd know that she didn't like the statue he'd bought her for Christmas, and she didn't want to hurt his feelings. "I was wondering if I could ask you something." Tonks shifted away so that she could see his face.

"What?" she asked.

"Please don't get angry, or upset," he said, holding up his hands. "Just listen, and then you can have your say, all right?"

"All right," she said warily. Keith swallowed and she wondered what it was. Did he have bad news? He must, if he thought she'd get angry or upset. Maybe he was breaking up with her, or maybe-

"I think you should quit the Program." Her mouth fell open. "Please, listen," he pleaded. Tonks swallowed several angry responses and frowned at him, arms folded over her chest. But, she didn't say anything. "Thank you. Look, everything you've told me about the Program is great – I feel like I know what's going on now, you know? And I know how much you enjoy it-"

"Then why would you even ask-" she began, feeling angry and hurt, but more than anything, betrayed.

"Because I'm worried about you. You've got two cases on the go, as well as lessons for _seven_ different subjects and I know you've been tired lately-"

"And that means I should quit?" she asked flatly.

"Look, life's about balancing, and you haven't been able to do that-"

"I'm balancing," she said defensively.

"Nymphadora-"

"Don't call me that," she snapped. "I _know_ things are busy at the moment, but I chose this. I worked hard to get in and as much as I _appreciate_-" That word was hard to get out. "-your concern, this is my future we're talking about. I'm not just going to quit-"

"What about our future?" he asked quietly.

"Our- as a couple?" He nodded.

"It's important, right?"

"Of course it is!" she said, throwing her hands up. He twitched, startled. "That's why I told you everything. I_want_ you to understand- I thought you did understand."

"I do," he said. "Sort of. And better than I did before... It's just... I'm worried about you. What if you don't come home one day-"

"It's an occupational hazard," she mumbled.

"Exactly," he said. "That's not fair to you or to me."

"No," she conceded. "But it's something I've accepted and that you should too-"

"And time together?" he asked. "I get that you're busy and things _have_ actually been better lately, but I don't want to be pushed aside. I want to be your priority. I _deserve_ to be your top priority."

"You do," she agreed, and then winced, because this was going to sound absolutely terrible no matter how she put it. "But you can't be with everything else that's going on, and I'm sorry that that's the way it is, but-"

"This is why you should quit," he said persistently.

"I'm not quitting," she said, and he looked angry for the first time.

"You're everything to me – you are the most important person in my life-" Tonks stared at him, feeling extremely uncomfortable with that declaration; surely his parents were more important to him than she was? She hoped that was the case. "-but to you, I'm just something to keep you entertained while you're not with the Program and then I'm a burden the rest of the time."

"That's complete and utter rubbish!" she snapped. She was so hurt that he could think that of her and knew that she had two options; she could cry, or she could shout. She picked the latter. "If that was true, then why the bloody hell would I have told you about the Program? Why would I have introduced you to my friends, or-"

"All right, maybe that was taking it a bit-"

"Far?" she asked furiously. "Do you think so?"

"Look-"

"No, you look," she said. "I'm quite happy to talk to you about anything that's on your mind – even if I may not particularly like what you've got to say – but I'm not just going to sit here and let you insult me and tell me I don't care about you." She stood and stalked out of the room.

"Where are you going?" he asked, hurrying after her.

"To find something else to _entertain_ me," she said. She knew it was nasty and that he already felt terribly guilty – one look at his face was evidence of that – _and _that she'd probably feel awful for saying that to him later, but right at that moment, she was too angry to care.

She was also aware that she was probably overreacting but she didn't care about that either. She flicked her wand at the front door which leaped open, and stalked out into the muddy front garden. She slipped, landing in the muddy, grassy, snowy mess on the ground, picked herself up and Disapparated.

* * *

Remus glanced over his shoulder to check that he hadn't been followed out of the main building. He hadn't – which was remarkable, in his opinion, given how closely Greentooth had been watching him since the full moon – and that was good, because he'd spent all of yesterday with Sirius and Harry, and Greyback was beginning to get suspicious again.

_What he doesn't know won't hurt him_, he thought hopefully.

Since Remus was still quite battered after the full moon, with his shredded arms, scratched ear and what he suspected was a strained hamstring, he was quite keen to keep Greyback as complacent as possible. That was even harder because Matt had sneaked home today for some time with his parents and if Greyback found out, he'd likely be furious with both of them. Debbie, thankfully, spent so much time in her room that she wasn't guilty by association and had been more or less left alone.

Remus checked his pockets to make sure he still had the letter from Malfoy – apparently he wanted to meet with Remus first thing tomorrow morning, and since he'd been given such short notice, Remus couldn't afford to put off posting it - and then he turned on the spot.

He Apparated onto his doorstep, breathing in the calming, familiar scent of _home_. He pulled out his wand, tapped the lock and the door swung open.

He stepped inside... and found Dora curled up on his couch, fast asleep. Remus closed the door as quietly as possible and tiptoed in as well as he could with his hamstring in its current condition. He wondered what she was doing here and - more importantly - why she smelled of tears. He would have liked to talk to her, but he couldn't afford to waste time; Greyback or Greentooth could realise he was missing at any moment and that would have serious repercussions for him and for Matt. He was also a little afraid that she'd cry...

He crept over and tried to tuck the letter into her hand, but her fingers were too limp to hold it. He bent her fingers carefully, and slid the letter in, but it slipped right through. He made a little noise of frustration and was trying to put it in her other hand, when she stirred.

"Damn it," he muttered, stepping back so he wouldn't scare her. She jumped anyway, and gave him a bleary look.

"Keith?" she mumbled. "How did you find me?"

"It's Remus, actually," Remus said apologetically. "I've got a letter for you."

She blinked and rubbed her eyes and Remus pressed the letter into her hand. Remus shifted a strip of his bandage so that he could get a look at his watch .

"Oh, it is you," she said. Then she jumped again and her hair turned a brilliant pink, so bright it was almost blinding, though oddly, Remus found it welcome after the dull camp. "I'm so sorry!" she said, fully awake now. "I didn't think you'd- I just needed somewhere to-"

"Dora," he said firmly. "Relax. You're more than welcome to use my couch."

"Thanks," she muttered. Remus looked at his watch again, but this time, she noticed. "What happened to your arms?" she asked, pushing herself up into a sitting position. "Did Greyback-"

"No. Some of it was me, but most of it was caused by a little savage called Greentooth."

"It looks pretty bad," she said, wincing, but she hadn't seemed overly horrified by the fact that some of it was self inflicted. He was grateful for that, though her concern made Remus fidget and try to hide his arms behind his back.

"It would have been a lot worse if Greentooth had had her way," he said, shrugging.

To his horror, she gave a bleak laugh, and then started to sob. Remus froze. He wanted to comfort her, so he'd have an excuse not to go back to the camp, but he also wanted to get as far as possible from her tears. And, with each passing second, it grew more and more likely that Greyback would discover he was missing. Remus glanced at his watch again, grimaced and sat down next to her.

"Hey," he said, giving her shoulder a tentative pat. "Dora, I'm fine. All in one piece-"

"It's n-not that," she sniffed.

"Oh," Remus said, at a loss, now. "Was it something else I-"

"I'm so s-stupid-d," she said. Remus silently prayed for help, and for her to stop crying, and patted her shoulder again.

"Dora, you're a very intelligent young wom-"

"Stop b-being nice to me," she said, which completely confused Remus. He decided to keep his mouth shut this time, and just rubbed her back. "Y-you're b-being _attacked_ at the c-camp and you h-hate it there but you haven't c-complained _once_ and then h-here I am c-crying about s-stupid things l-like b-boyfriends when I h-have absolutely n-no right to complain about _anything- _What's wrong with me?"

"Nothing's wrong with you," Remus assured her. _Except for the fact that you're crying and it's making me uncomfortable._ "You just need to calm down."

"Why-" She hiccoughed and looked at him with teary grey eyes and hair that was pink for embarrassment and a sickly green for guilt. "Why do I always cry around you?"

"I really don't know," he replied.

"If I'm w-with anyone else, I'm all right, but with you I just-" He glanced at his watch – feeling extremely rude for doing so and winced. He'd been away for ten minutes, now. "Do you need to go?" she asked. It seemed she'd spotted the movement.

"I'm afraid so," Remus said, wincing again.

"It's okay," she said, giving him a small smile, as she wiped the last of her tears away. Remus let out a little sigh of relief. "It was nice to have some good company for a few minutes, at least."

"Tell me about it," Remus mumbled, thinking that – despite the tears – she was the best company he'd had all day; Matt had left before Remus woke and Debbie hadn't left her room. He checked his watch again.

"And there I go again," Dora said, exasperatedly. "Your problems are so much worse than mine... Merlin, I must drive you mad!" Remus smiled and shook his head and she grinned. He had to admire her composure; most people didn't recover from an emotional breakdown as quickly as she – now twice – seemed able to. "Just... I dunno... kick me or something next time."

"I'm not going to kick you, Dora," he said, shaking his head at her again. Then he smiled ruefully. "Though _I_might get a kick or two if I don't get back in the next few minutes."

"Is it really that bad?" she asked, and Remus got a strong whiff of guilt, fury – presumably at Greyback - and irritation, that he suspected was directed internally.

"I'd love to say I'm exaggerating," he said, pulling a face. "But yes, it is that bad. Worse today," he added as an afterthought.

"Why?" she asked, tilting her head to the side.

"Matt's not there. He's gone home for the day," Remus hastened to add, forestalling the thousands of questions he could tell she'd been about to ask. "Which is perfectly fair, because I come and go regularly, but it still makes for an unpleasant few hours." He checked his watch again. "Why am I still here?" Dora, didn't answer him – though Remus hadn't really expected her to – and was instead giving him a speculative look.

"I could arrange for Matt to go with you, if you'd like," she said suddenly. Remus cocked his head to the side. Her features shifted and then a different, but still familiar face was looking back at him. Matt's face.

Remus was sorely tempted to take her up on her offer; if he Apparated them, she'd still have no idea where they were and wouldn't be able to find the camp again, even accidentally. It would be dangerous but she was an _Auror_ – well, an Auror trainee – so he wasn't even going to bring that up.

"You let me cry all over you," she said persuasively. "It's the least I can do."

Remus glanced at his watch again and said, "It's a pretty awful place to go, but if you want to come, I'm not going to try to stop you."

She'd probably try to follow anyway, and he _did_ have a problem with that; Sirius had found him – he'd told Remus yesterday that he'd used a simple, but rather temperamental tracking spell, which had been attached to Hedwig. The False Feather Charm... or something similar, Remus thought Sirius had called it. It was a spell he claimed to have learned early in his Auror training, which meant Dora quite probably knew it. And, if she used it to find him, it would work, and she could accidentally – because he doubted she'd do it on purpose – let the location slip to Mad-Eye, who'd then be duty bound to investigate.

"You won't stop me?" she asked, beaming at him.

"No, though I'll warn you to be careful, and to follow my instructions." She nodded, accepting this easily. Remus checked his watch again. "If you're coming, you need to get ready, and quickly," he said, and she hurried down toward his bedroom to change.

* * *

"It's in a forest?" Tonks whispered, not sure what she'd expected. Remus had never exactly described the camp to her, but she'd imagined buildings, not just snow and trees. It was eerie though, which she had expected; aside from the wind, she and Remus were the only things making any noise, and it was starting to get dark, so everything was shadowy.

"Were you expecting Hogwarts?" Remus muttered, sounding amused, as he limped along beside her.

"No, I- Where do you sleep?" she asked. "Do you have a den or something?"

"You'll see soon enough," he said, and she was surprised how quickly he'd changed; back at his cottage, he'd been reasonably relaxed (once she stopped crying, at least) but now his shoulders were stiff and his tone was slightly harder than she was used to.

"Why are you limping?" she asked; she'd thought he'd moved a little gingerly when they made their way into the garden to Apparate, but it was much more pronounced here.

"Hamstring," he replied, grimacing. "Greentooth again," he added, before she could ask. "Now, remember to-" Remus stopped abruptly, moving ever so slightly to stand in front of her. Tonks squinted into the trees, but couldn't see a thing.

"What is it?" she breathed.

"It's time to see if those charms worked," he whispered back. He'd cast a variation of a Notice-Me-Not Charm on her scent – something she hadn't even known was possible – which wouldn't stop it from clinging to things she touched, but would stop anyone from smelling it on her. Or so they hoped. "If anything happens, get out of here. Do you understand?" Tonks nodded.

Remus began to walk forward again, and Tonks followed him, being careful not to slip in the snow. They'd only gone a few more paces when three figures emerged, seemingly out of nowhere, startling Tonks. One of them – a girl – laughed at her surprise.

"Lupin, Rosier," said the largest figure. He was tall, broad-shouldered with whiskers, matted grey hair and a very nasty smile. She immediately recognised Fenrir Greyback. "We've been looking for you," he growled softly. Tonks shivered; the wind was blowing from behind him, and she could smell his sour, meaty breath from here.

"Greyback," Remus replied. "Greentooth." Tonks assumed that was the middle girl – maybe four or five years younger than Tonks - with straggly, blond hair and brown eyes. "Yellowpaw." Yellowpaw was a tiny little thing, with very long, blond hair and huge eyes. The moment Remus spoke to her, however, her face contorted and she snarled. Tonks stared at her.

"Did you sneak out?" Greentooth asked, pouting at Tonks. "I wanted to play cards and I couldn't find you."

"We didn't sneak anywhere," Remus said curtly, before Tonks could think of something to say. "And we'd be_delighted_ to play cards with you later." Tonks frowned at Remus, wondering why he was treating her so harshly; even if she had hurt him, she was only a little girl.

"So where were you?" Greyback asked, watching them carefully. Tonks tried not to squirm.

"Walking," Remus said. Yellowpaw snarled again and Tonks gave her an alarmed look; she was quite wild.

"You were recruiting, weren't you?" Greyback snarled, though Tonks thought he looked a little afraid.

"Recruiting who?" Remus asked, sounding frustrated. "The squirrels? A pine martin, maybe?"

"Don't you get smart with me..." Greyback warned, as both Greentooth and Yellowpaw made angry noises (Remus had just mentioned hedgehogs).

"Terribly sorry," Remus said. "I'll try to keep the conversation at a level you can follow." Greyback howled and charged forward incredibly quickly.

So quickly, that Tonks was too stunned to do anything about it. Remus seemed to have been expecting it, however, and drew his wand just in time. Greyback skidded to a stop, inches from Remus. Remus pressed his wand into Greyback's shoulder, making him step back.

"Well," Remus said, twirling his wand between his fingers. "I think I've lost my desire to walk any further. Matt?" Tonks nodded. Remus gestured for her to follow and stepped around Greyback and the girls. Trying to look as if none of this was new to her, Tonks walked after him. His limp was barely noticeable and she suspected he was trying very hard not to let it show.

Tonks was relieved that they weren't followed when they left; Greyback scared her, and Remus scared her when Greyback was around, because she was worried he was going to get himself hurt.

"What was that?" she breathed when she thought the others were well out of earshot.

"I told you things were different here," he said, sounding much more like his normal self. "I'd forgotten you'd met him, though." He sounded angry.

"Sorry," she muttered.

"It's not your fault," he said, looking abashed. He'd stopped walking. "It's mine; upon reflection, it was stupid of me to bring you here when your scent's familiar to him. I didn't even think about-"

"Remus, calm down," she said. "He didn't notice anything back there-"

"Only because we're both wearing Notice-Me-Not Charms," he said, looking agitated. "He might not smell you on us, but we're bound to touch something, or have our scents caught by the wind-"

"Is your sense of smell really that strong?" she asked.

"_That's_ what you got out of what I just said?" She gave him a sheepish smile and he just shook his head. "Do you still want to come?" he asked.

"I'm already here," she said, smiling.

"Come on, then," he sighed, gesturing for her to follow again. "We're probably safer inside."

It turned out Tonks had been right to expect buildings, and she felt a new wave of embarrassment over her comment about dens; in the middle of a rough ring of cottages was an absolutely enormous building.

"No windows?" she asked, looking at it.

Remus gave her a tight-lipped smile and led her over toward a door. Two men sniffed them – both Tonks and Remus held their breath – but after a suspicious look and a follow-up sniff, they were allowed inside.

A large group of people were milling around near the door, taking off damp jumpers and soggy shoes; Tonks assumed they'd just come inside. Tonks and Remus squeezed past, and Tonks knocked into several of them – most of whom turned around and snapped or growled at her – before they made it into clear space.

Inside was bigger than she'd imagined, and made her wonder if magic had been used to stretch the room. It reminded her a bit of Hogwarts, with the long tables and constant chatter, although she could tell at once that this was a much grimmer place than Hogwarts had ever been.

"Are they doorways?" she whispered, well aware that most of these people had very good hearing.

"You're number sixty four," Remus said, and it was then that Tonks noticed each one had a number above them. Sixty four was almost directly opposite the door they'd just come in through. They both crossed the room – Tonks bumped into even more people, and tripped on the leg of an ugly throne – and slipped inside. Tonks turned to close the door... and found there wasn't one.

Remus had gone straight to a large rucksack and pulled out one of Matt's jumpers. Though he was on the other side of the bedroom, he only needed to take one step to be able to pass it right to her.

"Where's the door?" she said, taking the jumper from him. "Don't you have any privacy, or-"

"I told you things were different here," Remus said again, far more grimly than he had before.

"But- but privacy's a basic human right-" she started.

"We're not human," Remus said bitterly. Tonks opened her mouth to argue, and found that technically, she couldn't.

"Do you really believe that?"

"We're werewo-"

"Do _you_ believe that you aren't human?" she said. Remus looked a little surprised by the question.

"I don't know," he said after a moment, and then gave her a curious look. Tonks wondered what he was thinking about, and then he shook his head. "Put that on," he said, nodding at the jumper. Tonks pulled off the jumper she'd transfigured back at Remus' cottage and replaced it with Matt's. Remus' nose twitched and he nodded. "Much better." Tonks transfigured her old jumper into a silver ring and went to put it on. Remus started to laugh.

"What?" she asked. "No one'll look twice at it." Remus pulled a face and picked the ring up. He held it for a few seconds and then dropped it back into Tonk's hand. Then, he showed her his palm, which had an angry red, circular burn on it. "Oh," she said.

"Yes," he said, looking a little bit pained, but more amused than anything.

"You didn't have to burn yourself," she said exasperatedly. "What should I make it into?"

"You know what?" Remus said. "Leave it as a silver ring, and we'll put it on Greyback's stupid chair. Then, when he sits down, he'll burn his ar-"

"Are you serious?" she asked.

"Assuredly not," Remus said, with a smug little smile that made her think she was missing something. "But I do think this is a good idea."

He talked her into it relatively easily, and they left Matt's room talking in whispers; Remus was telling her about making Greyback's fur fall out on the full moon. Remus even cast a spell on the ring to get rid of both of their scents; Remus smelled it and said it just smelled faintly of a lot of other people (probably those that she'd bumped) and he levitated it onto the throne. Tonks had a quick look around, but no one was paying them any attention.

They went to his room – number thirty seven – so that Remus could also change jumpers, and put a few drops of Dittany on his hand. Then, with a grimace, Remus led her back into the main area.

"We can't stay in there?" Tonks asked.

"It's too suspicious," Remus said, rolling his eyes to show what he thought of that. They chose a spot at the end of the bench on the left (since that was close to both Remus and Matt's rooms) and also because it was several yards from anyone else.

"Does Greyback let you do anything?" she asked.

"Breathe," Remus answered. "If he's in a good mood, that is." He didn't appear to be joking.

"Wow," she said.

"You saw what he was like," Remus sighed. "He hates me." He didn't sound overly upset about that, though that didn't surprise her; someone like Remus shouldn't care what a monster like Greyback thought of him.

"It's not just that, though, is it?" she said. There was something else about it, something that she couldn't quite place.

"I'm afraid I don't-"

"He's afraid of you," she said; Remus' use of the word had made everything click together. "Isn't he?" Remus didn't seem surprised by Tonks' revelation. Remus inclined his head slowly. "_Why?_" she asked, and then thought that might have been a tactless thing to say. "Not that you aren't... er... frightening, just that you-"

"_Matt_," Remus said, putting so much emphasis on the word that Tonks grinned. "Firstly, I'm very frightening-"

"That's what I said," Tonks replied, snickering.

"Well good," he retorted, grinning and she laughed. "And secondly," he said, sobering, "while I'm more than happy to explain it all to you, this isn't the place to do it."

"It's why Greyback's been so quiet lately, though, isn't it?" she pressed in a lower voice. "No one's seen him in London – or anywhere really – for over a month now." And a month and a bit ago, Remus had made his hasty departure to save Matt. "Mad-Eye and I have been trying to figure it out- how were we so thick? It's because of_you_-"

"I might be a contributing factor," he admitted. Tonks leaned back, impressed.

"Well damn," she said, giving him a wry smile. "That means the case is going to go nowhere for another few weeks."

"Sorry about that." Remus opened his mouth, as if he was going to say something else. Then, he looked as if he'd thought better of it. Just as Tonks sighed and prepared to ask what it was, Remus spoke: "Perhaps you could use the time to sort out your boyfriend problems."

He said it gently, giving her the perfect opening to talk about it if she wanted to, but also let her know that she didn't have to talk about it if she didn't want to. Something in Tonks' chest still deflated at the reminder.

"Perhaps," she agreed glumly, and Remus gave her a sympathetic look. "I- no. I shouldn't keep dumping all of my problems on you. You've got enough to worry about."

"It's actually refreshing to hear about problems I can do something to help fix," he said with a wry smile. "But if you don't want to talk about it, I won't pry."

"Thanks," she said.

"How's training?" he asked, clearly thinking this was a less touchy subject. It wasn't, after what Keith had said about wanting her to quit, but she appreciated Remus' effort.

"It's good," she said finally. "I've got a Stealth and Tracking test in four days, which I'm a bit worried about-"

"Do you know about the False Feather Charm?" he asked randomly.

"Faux Feather, I think it is, but yes. Why?" Remus just smiled and shook his head.

"How's Mad-Eye?"

"Good," she said, and proceeded to tell him about Mad-Eye's latest trap on his garden; muggle gnomes that had attacked her with little hammers and tripped her with their fishing line wire. "I swear he keeps buying new ones, because they're irreparable by the time I'm finished with them, yet every time I go back, there are ten more!" Remus chuckled.

"And the search?" he asked. "How's that going?"

"No Sirius or Harry, but you're almost out of a job," she said apologetically. Remus didn't seem overly fussed about that, but she supposed he'd had a long time to get used to it, and he'd had a taste of what life without the search would be like while he was here. "By the end of next week, I think Malfoy will have sacked-" She dwindled off, because for some strange reason, she was the only one talking. Remus had gone very still.

A door slammed, and Tonks wondered if Greyback had returned. He wasn't by the door, but Greentooth and Yellowpaw, as well as several other children of similar ages were positioned in front of it like bodyguards.

"What's-" she began in a whisper, but Remus shook his head and she fell silent; his eyes were glued to Greyback, who Tonks could now see standing in front of his throne. In his hand, was the silver ring.

"_She's_ here," he said. Tonks didn't need to look at Remus to know he was just as horrified as she was.

"I thought you spelled my scent off of it," she breathed, without looking at him.

"I did," Remus hissed back. "I don't know how-" Greyback held the ring to his nose and inhaled deeply. Tonks was sure his fingers must be burning, but he didn't appear to care.

"Come forward, my sweet," Greyback said. "I know you're here." Tonks stayed very, very still. Everything was silent again. "You want to play games?" Greyback asked. "Greentooth! No one comes in or out until She's found."

Next to her, Remus swore.


	39. Greyback Unhinged

"Lupin!"

"Yes!" both Remus and Dora replied. Her – well, Matt's – face flooded with colour, but thankfully her hair didn't change at all. He wondered absently if she'd learned better control from the book he'd given her for Christmas.

"Sorry," Dora muttered. "Habit." Thankfully, Greyback either hadn't heard her, or didn't think anything of it.

"You too, Rosier."

Remus and Dora approached Greyback's throne. Remus stood with his arms folded, while Dora had her hands in her pockets; she was probably trying to hide every bit of skin that she could, in case Greyback could smell her. If the charm on the ring had failed, it was possible that their Notice-Me-Not Charms hadn't worked properly either. Remus was worried – very worried – for Dora's safety and felt like a prat for bringing her here, though he couldn't for the life of him work out how Greyback knew that she was here.

Greyback sniffed Dora first. She looked remarkably calm – even exasperated – under the scrutiny, while Remus prayed for her safety.

"Who are you even looking for?" Dora asked, cringing away slightly as Greyback sniffed her short, dark hair.

"_Her_. Your lost sister." Remus almost laughed. Greyback wasn't looking for Dora at all; he was looking for his mystery girl – Remus and Matt had dubbed her Smoky because of the whole 'smoke in the wind' thing. "I can smell her on the ring... it's faint but I'm attuned to it, to her- I _know_ she put this here!" Greyback was wearing the ring now and Remus hoped that it was causing him a lot of pain. "It's a message, a symbol of her defiance, I know it is!" The charms on Dora seemed to have held because he shoved her away – Remus growled – and moved onto sniffing Remus. A few seconds later, Remus was also dismissed and he led Dora back to their seats.

They watched as Greyback singled people out – seemingly randomly – and sent them to stand in a corner. When Greyback had gone through the hundred-and-something people in the room and singled out about twenty but still not found Smoky, he went a little bit mad. He seized one of the older women by her scarf and dragged her forward.

"_Where is She_?" he snarled, shaking her.

"I don't know, Father," the woman said, bowing her head. "I swear, I haven't seen her-" Greyback flung her away and started on a little boy.

Dora was trembling – with fear or rage, Remus didn't know – and was watching the scene in front of them, unable to look away.

"We've got to get you out of here," Remus muttered, drawing her eyes to him.

"This is my fault, though," she whispered. "I-"

"No," Remus said. "He's not looking for you."

"But he said-"

"He bit a girl a while back," Remus said, leaning closer to her, so that they wouldn't be overheard. "And somehow, she's managed to keep herself hidden. Greyback's become obsessed, and I don't know how, but it's_her_ scent that he's picked up on."

"Yes," she breathed, "on _my_ jumper."

"You probably brushed against her getting through the doors," Remus said, remembering. "And when you put on Matt's jumper, the one you were wearing left the protection of the Notice-Me-Not. Besides, if it was just you, then he wouldn't have singled them out." He tilted his head toward the group that Greyback was still harassing.

"I should be doing something to help-" she said, and gasped and looked away when Greyback punched a man so hard that he fell over. One of the women who hadn't been singled out screamed, and then backed away when Greyback glanced in her direction.

"Matt," Remus said, holding Dora's eyes. "There is nothing you can do. If Smoky comes forward, fine, but I doubt she will-"

"Smoky?"

"The girl. We know for a fact that she didn't put the ring there because we did, and she's already proven that she's smart. If she was ever here-" Remus had to admit that it was possible that Greyback was imagining things "-she's probably far away by now and that means Greyback's not going to be able to find her."

"That's bad?" Dora asked.

"That's potentially fatal," Remus said grimly. "For all parties involved."

"Everyone to their rooms," Greyback snarled, dropping the neck of the man he'd been questioning. "We'll do this individually."

"Sixty four," Remus breathed in Dora's ear as they stood. "Go straight to the bathroom and Apparate out – I'll handle things here."

"But-" Dora fell quiet as Greentooth walked past them.

"Coming?" Greentooth asked, gleefully. Remus didn't know whether it was because Greyback had a chance to find Smoky, or if it was because she'd obviously disrupted an important conversation. Knowing her, it could have been either. Thankfully, Dora seemed to realise Greentooth was talking to her, and nodded.

Then – and Remus had to admit she had a fairly good handle on Matt's behaviour – she gave Remus one last, slightly worried look and walked toward Matt's room without waiting for Greentooth. Remus was pleased to see Greentooth looking disgruntled by this, as she vanished into her own room, sixty-six. Remus, meanwhile, was praying that Dora would listen to him and leave.

Remus didn't waste any time going to his room once Dora was gone. He went straight into his tiny bathroom and pulled the curtain across. Then he closed the toilet lid and sat down on that because there wasn't enough room for what he wanted to do otherwise.

"_Expecto Patronum,_" he murmured, thinking of Sirius and Harry. His werewolf burst out into the room and skidded almost comically to avoid colliding with the shower, though Remus thought he probably would have gone straight through the wall instead of into it. The werewolf lifted his nose and sniffed before baring his glowing blue teeth and growling silently. He then attempted to prowl around on the very limited floorspace.

"Moony," Remus said, getting his attention. The Patronus padded over and Remus allowed him to sniff the back of his hand; Moony's nose was both warm and cold at the same time, and Remus' heart lightened a little. It was – though this was hardly surprising - like touching a happy memory. "I need you to find Matt," Remus whispered, "and tell him to come back now. He needs to Apparate straight into his bathroom and then stay in his room until Greyback comes to see him. Greyback'll ask some odd questions and Matt should answer them to the best of his ability. Matt shouldn't say anything about being away today because Greyback thinks he's been here." The werewolf stretched and walked toward the wall. "Tell him it's urgent," Remus added, as the Patronus streaked away.

Remus sighed, feeling lonely again and then got up, pushed the curtain back, and went to lie on his bed.

_Please, please go home_, he thought toward Dora. He _thought_ she would – Auror trainees were supposed to follow instructions – but one only had to look at Sirius and James to know that hadn't always been true. Dora was no different; she'd shown that she had a strong independent streak and while he admired it at times, it worried him now. _Please_, he thought.

* * *

"Rosier!"

Matt, still slightly disoriented from Apparition, poked his head out through the curtain. Greyback was standing there, eyes feverishly bright and breath coming in wheezy pants.

"Hold on," Matt said and retreated back into the bathroom. He fell against the stone wall of his shower, taking deep breaths.

_That was bloody close_, he thought and took a moment to compose himself. He flushed the toilet for good measure and then flung the curtain back and wandered into his bedroom. Greyback was still waiting.

"You showered," Greyback said, eyeing his wet hair.

"I thought you'd be a while," Matt said, folding his arms; Greyback didn't need to know he'd done that at home. He was glad he had; the last thing he needed was Greyback smelling his parents on him.

"I never said you could shower-"

"I don't recall you saying I couldn't, either," Matt retorted. It seemed Greyback hadn't, because – while he looked frustrated – he didn't argue. He did, however, grab Matt's neck and force him to sit down on the edge of the bed. Matt yelped as something burned the side of his neck; when Greyback released him, and started to pace – giving Matt the impression that this was going to be some sort of interrogation – Matt could see what appeared to be a silver ring gleaming on Greyback's hairy hand.

_He's lost it_, Matt thought. _He's actually gone mad. _He wondered what had triggered it and if Remus had had any part in it.

"Where were you today?" Greyback asked as he paced.

"With Remus," Matt said confidently; he and Remus had made a pact years ago now, that they'd cover for the other's absence in situations like this. "Though I don't know why you're asking, because you saw us-"

"Where did you go after your walk in the forest?" Greyback snapped, and Matt breathed a sigh of relief; his bluff hadn't been called. That was also worrying; Matt _hadn't_ been there today, so if Greyback had seen them, as his response seemed to indicate, then why did he think Matt _had _been there? Remus was a good liar, but not that good.

"Back here," Matt said, deciding to play along. Maybe Greyback really had gone mad, and had imagined him all day. Matt wasn't about to question it. "Remus and I sat down and talked about decidedly non-suspicious things until-" Matt took a chance and gestured at Greyback. "-_this_ happened."

_Whatever 'this' bloody is..._ Matt thought. Greyback, however, seemed to understand, and Matt couldn't believe his luck.

"Did you see or smell anything suspicious, Matthew-"

"Oh, it's Matthew again, is it?" Matt asked, arching an eyebrow. "It's beenRosier for weeks now-"

"_Don't disrespect me_!" Greyback snarled, stopping his pacing. Matt shrank back. "And answer my question, boy. Did you see or smell anything-"

"No," Matt said. "I didn't-"

"_Where is She?_" Greyback asked, seizing Matt by the throat again.

"I don't bloody know," he retorted, managing to prise Greyback's hands off; they were shaking, which was odd. Perhaps the silver was really starting to hurt him, or perhaps he'd lost his strength with his sanity. "But as I've pointed out, I've been with Remus all day – doing non-suspicious things, mind – and since the rest of our lovely siblings avoid us like they're humans and we're you-" Greyback seemed pleased by the comparison and Matt hid a frown, upset that his barb hadn't bothered Greyback. "-we haven't had any contact with anyone else."

"So you don't know?" Greyback asked.

"I haven't the foggiest where she might be," Matt said. "Didn't I _just_ say that?"

"You can go back outside." Greyback, bizarrely, still looked cheered about Matt's twisted compliment.

_You're a nutter, _Matt wanted to say. _A complete and utter lunatic... _But he didn't, and he followed Greyback out into the main area again. Greyback immediately went into the next room over while Matt scanned the area for Remus. Remus' eyes brightened when Matt sat down, though Remus was giving him a curious look.

"Expecting someone else?" Matt asked. Remus looked amused by that, but also relieved. Matt decided not to ask. "So what the hell's going on here? I mean, it's a madhouse normally, but this..."

"He thinks Smoky's here," Remus replied.

"Is she?" Matt asked.

"Not as far as I can tell," Remus said.

"And what's with the ring?" Matt asked, scratching at the burn on his neck.

"He thinks she left it for him." Matt rolled his eyes.

"Did she?"

"No," Remus said, and again Matt decided not to ask. It had obviously been an interesting day. "How are Robin and Cornelius?"

"They send their greetings," Matt said, shrugging.

"Was it nice to be home?" Matt smiled.

"Unbelievably," he said. "I mean, I stopped by for about ten minutes on Christmas before we went to my Aunt's - which was great - but actually _staying_ home... First thing I did was start slamming doors. Mum thought I'd lost it." Remus chuckled.

"It's nice to have a day where nothing strange happens, isn't it?"

"This tonight's more than made up for it," Matt said ruefully, and then frowned. "Although there was one strange thing..."

"What?"

"Well, I had a shower to get rid of the smell of this place and then when I went looking for clothes that didn't stink like Greyback, there weren't any."

"He does stink," Remus muttered.

"He does, but that's not what I meant. I meant that all of my clothes seem to have gone missing," Matt said. "The ones that aren't here, at least. How does that even happen? Mum said there must have been a break-in but who steals clothes for Merlin's sake?"

"Who indeed?" Remus murmured, apparently finding the whole thing very funny.

* * *

Tonks materialised in the kitchen, figuring that at nine-thirty, no one would be around to tell her off for it; things were beginning to get busy for Mum at the bank again, with the end of financial year only two months away and Dad was always in bed early because of his odd hours. They should both have been fast asleep.

They weren't, however and as soon as Tonks saw outlines of people, she adjusted her face into one that didn't look like Matt's, and that didn't look worried or scared. Mum, Dad, and Keith were sitting at the table, each clasping a cup of tea and talking in low, worried voices. Then, a second after she Apparated in, the resounding CRACK startled them all. Dad slopped tea down his front, while Keith fell off his seat. Mum, on the other hand, didn't appear to have been startled by her sudden entrance, but was obviously unimpressed.

"Nymphadora Gladys Tonks!" Tonks hated her first name with a passion, but there was also a very good reason why she used her last name and not her middle one. "Where in Merlin's name have you been?" Mum asked, enclosing her in a tight hug.

"I went out," Tonks said, shooting Keith a look. Most of her anger had faded, but it was clear that they had a lot to discuss.

"You should've left a note," Dad said, collecting everyone's teacups. He kissed her on the head as he made his way to the sink. "I'm glad you're okay, Dora."

"So am I," Mum said, squeezing her again. "Though I'm _sure_ I've told you about Apparating into the house before..." she said in a dangerously low voice.

Tonks hastily extracted herself from the hug, before Mum squeezed so her tightly that she broke something. Keith was hovering awkwardly in the corner and Dad, who'd finished with the teacups, took a look at each of them.

"'Dromeda, would you help me find that shirt, now?" Mum looked over at him, frowning.

"I told you I put it in your wardrobe," she said.

"Are you sure-"

"I'm positive, Ted," Mum sighed. "If you weren't so untidy, then perhaps you'd be able to find it without my help." She walked out, apparently unaware that Dad had brought the shirt up to give Tonks and Keith some time alone. Mum was as cunning as the best of them, but Dad had years of experience dealing with her and knew how to get his way when he needed to. Mum _usually_ picked it up, but always seemed to miss his subtle manipulations if he used self-depreciation. To Hufflepuffs like Dora and Dad, humility came naturally, while Mum – as a Slytherin – still didn't seem able to get her head around the concept that someone would be self-depreciating if it wasn't absolutely essential. Dad winked at Tonks on his way out.

"So you're okay?" Keith asked.

"I've been better," she said honestly. She was a little shaken by what she'd seen at the camp as well as worried for Remus and guilty for leaving him, even though that's what he'd asked her to do. And then, of course was all of her irritation at Keith for saying the things he had that afternoon, and also a myriad of other feelings that she couldn't be bothered dealing with right now. "Have you been here the whole time?" Keith shifted, not meeting her eyes.

"You just walked out. I thought maybe you'd just gone somewhere to calm down, but then you didn't come back... I was really scared," he said in a small voice.

"Sorry for scaring you," she said, feeling a little stab of guilt.

"So where did you go?" he asked. His eyes drifted over the jeans she was wearing, and the jumper of Matt's. Thankfully, when she'd changed from being Matt, she'd taken on the appearance of a tall, curvy woman who filled them out well enough for them to pass as women's clothing. "Because you weren't wearing that when you left."

"I changed," she said lamely.

"Yeah, I'd worked that out," he said. "Look, about earlier-"

"Don't worry about it," she sighed, walking out of the kitchen.

"No, not that. I still want you to think about quitting," he said, following her out. It was strange to be babied by Keith less than ten minutes after she'd had Remus treating her like an adult, like an Auror. Unsurprisingly, she didn't particularly like it.

"I'm not going to quit, Keith," she said, pushing her bedroom door open. Her afternoon and evening at the camp had left her with a stronger sense of morality than ever. He didn't seem to have heard. He'd picked something up off her floor.

"Nymphadora?" he said. Tonks cringed. It was a pair of boxer shorts. She'd bought a few pairs back when she started pretending to be Remus and Matt – she hadn't borrowed _those_, that was for sure.

"This is going to sound really stupid," she began, as Keith dropped them and picked up a pair of Matt's baggy jeans; she'd been in such a hurry this morning with Keith and Florence and Melvin coming over that she'd just dropped everything on her bedroom floor. Usually she was careful with her disguise clothes, and – in a rather un-Tonks-ish manner that she'd developed – kept them all folded in one of the drawers in her dresser. She wondered if she was channelling Tock, who'd always struck her as the tidy type, or perhaps Remus.

"Whose are they?" Keith asked, shaking the jeans at her. "There's no way they're yours."

"They could be," she said, folding her arms. "I can be any shape or size that I want." He just stared at her. "But no, they're not mine."

"Whose are they?" he repeated darkly.

"I can't tell you his name," she said. "He's the person I'm undercover as. I sort of borrowed-" Because she didn't want to tell him that she'd broken into his house and raided his wardrobe. "-his things."

"Even those?" Keith asked, nudging the boxers with his shoe.

"No," she said irritably. "Those are mine."

"Right," he said, not looking as if he believed her.

"They are." She scanned his face. "Keith?"

"Is that where you went tonight? To see him?"

"What? No," she said, and he seemed to believe her this time. He was quiet for a painfully long time. When he looked up, he was frowning and looked troubled. "Keith?"

"I can't," he choked, throwing the jeans down. "Nymphadora, I'm sorry, I can't take it."

"Keith, what-?"

"You didn't tell me it was a man you were undercover as!"

"I don't see how it matters-" she began.

"It just does, all right," he said, running a hand through his short hair. "It's- I don't like it, that you- no. Just no."

"It's my job," she said. "It's a little odd, sure, and it's a bit awkward for me, but I have to-"

"No, you don't," he said. "Quit."

"I'm not-"

"I was thinking while you were out tonight," he said, sitting down on her bed. She shoved a few books back so that she could perch on the edge of her desk. "And I came to the conclusion that it has to be me or the Program."

"Please don't make me choose," she whispered. "It can work – I know it can, if we try-"

"It shouldn't be this hard," he said, aiming a kick at one of the shoes that was lying on her floor. "We shouldn't have to try to make this work, it should just-"

"Happen?" she said flatly. He nodded. "I don't think any couple 'just happen', Keith."

"Maybe not," he conceded. "But you can't deny things would be easier if you weren't working."

"No," she said, folding her arms. "I can't." She watched him for a moment. "That's what you want? An easy relationship?"

"Don't you?"

"It would be nice," she said. "But it's not going to be that way."

"Not with the Program," he corrected. "But aren't I worth more than that?"

"Aren't I worth the effort of putting up with the Program?" she countered, feeling desperate tears stinging her eyes. "If you love me like you say you do, then shouldn't you be willing to try a bit longer? We'll sort something out-"

"I do love you," he said at once. "Nymphadora-"

"The Program," she whispered. Somewhere, behind all of the swirling confusion, she was aware that his use of her name was probably what gave her the ability to make the hardest decision in her life, to date. She'd been pretty sheltered.

"I- what?"

"I choose the Program," she repeated, brushing at her eyes, but she didn't seem to be able to stop the slow but steady dribble of tears. "I'm sorry, Keith, but if you force me to choose, that's what it'll be." He gaped at her.

"But- you can't- I- we-" He fell silent, looking confused. She wondered if he'd been expecting her to choose him, and if she was a bad person because she hadn't.

"I'm sorry," she said again. "Keith, I-" He shook his head and stood, obviously keen to leave as quickly as possible. "Keith," she whispered. "We can make it work with the Program. I don't want to have to choose-"

"You already did," he said, and spun on the spot. He'd obviously intended it to be a quick – and possibly dramatic – departure, but Mum's Anti-Apparition spells caught him and he was flung back onto her bedroom floor. He'd managed to Splinch his ear and half of his left hand which Tonks reattached.

She didn't plead anymore, because he'd obviously made his choice and he was right – she had made hers - but she did try to talk to him; they'd been friends before they dated and for a few seconds she entertained the thought that they could at least preserve their friendship. Keith didn't respond to any of her feeble attempts at starting conversation again, however, and that hope was quickly extinguished.

The second his ear and hand were fixed, he pulled away from her, stood, and left without saying a thank you, or anything for that matter. Tonks felt like something inside of her had shrivelled up and died. Her hair grew long and lank and black and she was still crying as she Vanished the blood he'd left behind.

She hadn't loved him – not quite – but she thought she'd been close. She felt horrible about losing him as both a boyfriend and a friend, guilty for not choosing him and even guiltier for how hurt he'd looked. She flicked her wand at the door to lock it; she wasn't in the mood to have Mum or Dad come in. She slid off the desk and into bed, where she shoved a purring Canis off of her pillow and cocooned herself in bedding.

Canis hissed at her from the ground and leapt up again, looking irate. He continued to hiss and make angry cat noises, and lash his tail back and forward from beside her covered knees, but Tonks didn't care. A moment later, however, his ears pricked up again and his tail stopped moving. Then, to her complete and utter shock, he tentatively made his way over her knees, around her elbow and sat down on her collarbone.

"What in Merlin's name are you doing?" she sniffed, wiping her eyes again. Canis just gave her a haughty look - as if to warn her this was a one-time thing - and adjusted himself so that his tiny body was coiled between her ear and her shoulder, and the top of his head was pressed against her chin. "Thanks," she muttered, and Canis gave her a dismissive look before he coiled up again. She was so surpsrised that she'd even stopped crying.

It was to the sound of his quiet heartbeat that she managed to drift into a fitful sleep.

* * *

_She and Keith were sitting in Madam Puddifoot's, and the cherub was sprinkling confetti over her, but for once, she didn't mind._

_"Marry me?" Keith said, passing her a ring. Tonks spun it around on the table and watched until it toppled and lay flat and silver against the pink tablecloth._

_"I can't," she said. "We just broke up."_

_"You want to break up?" Keith asked, his face crinkling. Tonks nodded._

_"I'm sorry," she said, passing the ring back. When it touched his hand, however, he howled and when Tonks looked up, it wasn't Keith anymore. It was Greyback._

_"I do," he said, slipping the ring on with a savage grin._

_"No," she said, backing away. The cherub threw confetti at her, hindering her retreat but she managed to fight her way free to the door. "No, I don't want to marry you!"_

_"Why not, Nymphadora?" Greyback asked, prowling forward. Tonks shoved the door open, but it didn't open out into the main street of Hogsmeade as it should've. Instead, it opened into a room filled with shelves and shelves of boxer shorts. She picked a direction and ran. She couldn't see him anymore, but she knew that Greyback was still nearby and that made her wary._

_"Where is She!?" she could hear him shouting._

_Tonks rounded another corner, and then another, and then tripped around a third. A strong arm steadied her and Tonks relaxed. It was Remus. He kept a firm grip on her arm and led her forward, and when Tonks pulled her eyes away from his calm face, she saw Greentooth and Yellowpaw in bridesmaid dresses, gliding toward an alter, where Greyback was waiting. Matt, Charlie and Tom were all in dress robes, watching proudly from the side._

_"Remus," Tonks said, trying to pull free. "I can't marry Greyback!"_

_"It's just nerves," he told her. _

_"No. Remus, please-" Remus smiled, as if he hadn't heard a word she'd said, and passed her hand to Greyback before going to join Charlie and the others. "Charlie, Tom!" she shouted desperately, but they just smiled at her. "No!" she said, trying to pull free of Greyback._

_Mad-Eye emerged from somewhere off to the side and began to recite vows in his growling voice. _

Tonks woke up, gasping, and didn't sleep again that night.

* * *

"Happy birthday, Mum," Harry said, tracing a hand over his Lily's name. In honour of the occasion, Sirius had charmed his hair the same deep red as Lily's, given him a generous amount of freckles but left his eyes the same bright green as always.

"Thirty, Lils," Sirius whispered. "Or you would be." Lily'd never aged past twenty one in his mind, and he doubted she ever would. "Godric," he said. "When did we get old?" He could hear them; Lily would have sighed and said she didn't know, while James would have laughed and pointed out that he and Remus were still twenty nine. Sirius was also aware that thirty wasn't really that old; it was just... an adult age.

There were flowers on the grave again today; a single white lily, as there had been on Halloween, and a bunch of orange roses – Sirius suspected that if he counted them, there would be thirty. He knew Marlene well enough to suspect she was responsible for those and felt both a pang of sadness and a stab of relief that they'd missed her visit. The flower he, Harry and Remus had planted on Christmas was faring well.

It was a lily, white, with orange and yellow spots in its throat. At the base of the plant were thick, green stems, which Sirius had added himself, with the help of the book Remus bought him for his birthday. At the moment, the stems were only a few inches high, but with time, they'd grow into antler-like structures that – if Sirius had done everything right – would curl over and encase the lily. Sirius had thought the design was appropriate and had layered the stems with charms that would protect the flower and allow the plant to grow, even if it was snowing.

Sirius cleared a patch of snow with his shoe and eased himself down onto the frozen dirt. A moment later, he shuffled over to make room for Harry, who sat down beside him.

"All right, kiddo?"

"Fine," Harry said, giving Sirius a sleepy smile; neither of them had slept the night before, because they'd been working on Harry's Form-Revealer, which had been at its most delicate stage and needed constant supervision. It had been done successfully, thankfully, and Sirius thought this one might actually work. They'd know for sure in early March.

Sirius pulled his mirror out of his rucksack and lay it down on the snowy ground with a murmured, "Harry Potter." Their reflections – lit by the light from the lamp posts around the graveyard - swirled until they were replaced with darkness. Sirius and Harry waited for a moment and then Sirius ended the contact and put his mirror away.

A very tired, very stressed Remus – Sirius hadn't seen him that bad since N.E.W.T. week – had contacted them at an uncivilized hour this morning to say something about Greyback, a ring and a girl called Smoky. Neither Sirius or Harry had understood all that much of the story but Sirius at least, had understood the outcome; Remus would need to lie low until the aftermath settled, which meant that he wouldn't be able to visit for a few days, and he wouldn't be able to contact them.

"Do you think she knows?" Harry asked quietly, looking at the grave.

"Knows what?" Sirius asked.

"That it's her birthday," Harry said, looking up at Sirius with Lily's eyes.

"Yeah," Sirius said. "I reckon she does. Not an awful lot got past your mum."

"What did?" Harry asked. Sirius almost said 'Peter' but thought better of it. They were probably both thinking it, but there was no need to say it aloud.

"James," he said, grinning. Harry raised an eyebrow. "Well, the fact that he fancied her. She thought it was a joke or something, I think." Harry already knew that James had spent years trying to win Lily over, and that she'd spent years turning him down, and so that probably wasn't news to him. "Funny, really, that she was so perceptive with the rest of our love lives and so completely clueless about her own."

"How'd she figure it out?" Harry asked. Sirius stared.

"I haven't told you?"

"No," Harry said, frowning; he was obviously thinking back. "I just know they started going out in your last year of school."

"I can't believe I haven't told you this," Sirius muttered. Just when he thought he'd been an exemplary godfather, a massive lapse like this would pop up. Harry shrugged. "There was an incident," Sirius said, launching – not unwillingly - into the story. He told Harry about Professor Gurdan – their seventh year Defence teacher – and his eventful first lesson of the year, and how Sirius and Lily had suddenly found themselves rather... attached to each other.

"It was entirely Peter's fault," Sirius added, and – fond as he was of Lily – he was still extremely grateful that it had only taken three days for Pomfrey to separate them. He then filled in what he knew of the following day, right up until the morning that James kissed Lily in the common room – Harry pulled a face at that – and scared the hell out of Sirius, Remus and Peter.

"Three days was all it took?" Harry asked doubtfully.

"Well, four," Sirius said.

"Isn't that... I dunno, a bit quick?" Harry asked, looking troubled.

"A bit," Sirius said. "They'd known each other for years, though, and once your mum saw that James wasn't a complete git she changed her mind about him pretty quickly. Don't get me wrong – it was weird at first; Lily kept waiting for James to... revert, or something, and he wasn't quite himself for a few more days because he was so terrified that he'd scare her off."

Harry smiled but didn't have anything to say on the matter. Sirius could have continued with the recount but decided to save it for another time. Lily finally working out her feelings for James had been a little pool of light in an otherwise dark year and Sirius didn't think Harry was ready to hear _every_ horrible detail of the war just yet. There were things that had happened in seventh year that _he _still had trouble accepting. And he was thirty. An adult.

Harry's eyes were distant and so Sirius – unable to help himself – poked his godson in the side. Harry jumped and looked up and Sirius couldn't hide his grin in time.

_Well, sort of an adult._


	40. Ulterior Motives

"Ready?" Remus asked Matt, who snorted.

"I was ready a few seconds after I got here," he said. Remus grinned and closed his suitcase. Matt's rucksack was already packed and leaning against Remus' bed, and Matt had been bouncing up and down for the last hour, obviously very eager to get home.

_Home_, Remus thought, happily, as they grabbed their things and left Room 37. _Goodbye for another year_, he thought, not sorry in the least to see the last of it. He'd be sleeping with the door closed tonight and every night for weeks to come if past years were any indication, simply because he could.

"Do you reckon Deb's ready?" Matt asked, scanning the main area for her. Remus had a look too, and spied Greentooth wrestling with Silverear, as well as Greyback who – unusually – was not on his throne and was at the table instead, with that stupid ring and a werewolf named Eric. They'd been studying it for almost a week now – and both had the burns to show it – though Remus didn't understand why. Eric was intelligent – he was one of the few at the camp who'd attended Hogwarts, and had been in Ravenclaw too - but apparently not intelligent enough to realise he was wasting his time.

Greyback suspected an insider was helping Smoky stay one step ahead, but Remus not only knew this not to be true (since he and Dora were responsible for the ring, and were certainly not in league with the mysterious Smoky) but thought it was pointless; he'd Vanished both his and Dora's scents from the ring, and no magic could bring them back. Still, it had kept Greyback busy and Remus and Matt had been able to spend their last days at the camp in relative peace.

"Can you see her?" Remus muttered and Matt shook his head. "Should we try her room?"

"Can't hurt," Matt said, leading the way over to Debbie's room. She was indeed inside and was sitting on the edge of her bed, waiting for them. She smelled nervous, but determined and she murmured a quiet hello as she absently smoothed a crease in her skirt. Remus watched her for a moment, feeling strange. Next to Remus, Matt was frowning, and Remus took comfort in the fact that he wasn't the only disconcerted one.

It took Remus a moment to realise why he felt that way; it was because Debbie wasn't wearing shoes, and she had a scarf tied around her bedpost, and she had a flower in a vase - that someone must have conjured for her – resting on her bedside table.

"You're not coming with us," Remus said, staring at her. Debbie wouldn't meet his eyes; she stared fixedly at her hands, which were clasped in her lap. "Are you?"

"No," she said quietly, still not looking at either of them.

"Why?" Remus asked gently, as Matt exclaimed, "Are you _mad?_" That, of all things, got Debbie to look up.

"No," she said, rather frostily.

"Seems like it," Matt said. Remus wrinkled his nose; hurt and anger warred in Matt's scent and it was like inhaling hot ash. "After everything Greyback's said and done to us, you're going to-"

"Matthew," Remus said, and Matt stopped and stared at him. Remus rarely called him by his first name, and Matt knew he'd gone too far when Remus did. Matt appeared to think things over and deflated the more he thought.

"I suppose I'll see you next year, then" Matt said quietly, stepping forward, as if to hug Debbie.

"I suppose so," Debbie said, not moving to accommodate him. Matt's arms fell back to his side and he stalked out without another word. "Are you going to tell me I've made a huge mistake?" she sneered, turning to Remus. "That I don't understand-"

"No," Remus said simply, before she could say anything else. "I'll admit to being curious about your motivations, but it's not my place to question your choices." Aside from anything, it would feel wrong; Debbie was old enough to be his mother. While she was still relatively new to being a werewolf, she wasn't new to living. She knew what was best for herself.

"No, it's not," she said, and Remus was a little taken aback.

"Is something wrong?" he asked. "You seem-"

"Mad?" she asked crossly. "I'm _not _mad! _I_ happen to like it here, thank you very much. No one judges me, and there are other people here that can't use magic and they fit in just fine, so-"

"I'd never intended to say 'mad'," Remus said curtly.

"You don't like that I'm staying here-"

"I don't like that anyone stays here," Remus said.

"I knew it!" Debbie exclaimed.

"It's hardly a secret," Remus said, irritated, and then calmed himself down. "Look, if you want to stay, that's your business and I don't have a problem with that but I do have a problem with you getting angry with me over nothing."

"Matthew did."

"I'm not Matt," Remus pointed out, and Debbie fell silent.

"I like it here," she said at last, in a quiet, almost defensive voice, as if she expected Remus to blow up at any moment. "It's... nice." Nice was... well, maybe not the last word that Remus would use to describe the camp, but it was certainly up there with peaceful, fun and inviting. "It's like an enormous family and I- I belong here. I haven't belonged anywhere since I was bitten."

"I'm sorry you feel that way," Remus said. "Matt and I always tried to make sure you felt included-"

"I know," she said in a tone that gave nothing away. Remus couldn't tell if she was grateful for their help, or if she was mocking him. "Richard and Nancy have done a better job of that than you ever did." That stung, though Remus couldn't say he was surprised; Richard and Nancy were from Rooms 4 and 18, respectively. They were among Greyback's oldest and most loyal... children. Remus hoped, for Debbie's sake, that they'd been sincere about the friendship they'd offered and hadn't approached her due to instructions from Greyback, to draw away one of Remus' little 'pets'.

"It sounds like you'll be well looked after, then," Remus said.

"I will be," she agreed, in a tone that made Remus feel guilty; he and Matt had tried to spend as much time with Debbie as possible since she arrived at the camp, but hadn't wanted Greyback to start targeting her as well. They'd had to keep their distance at times, though Remus hadn't seen this as a problem because Debbie had spent most days in her room.

Upon reflection, while it was 'suspicious' for Matt and Remus to be anywhere other than the main area, the camp's other occupants didn't have those limitations and he now realised that it had given Greyback, Nancy and Richard time to plant the seeds of doubt and friendship in Debbie's mind. Should he have protected her from that? _Could_ he have protected her from that? Remus suspected it was a lose-lose situation, though that didn't make it any easier.

"Good," he said, because he couldn't think of anything else to say, but she was clearly waiting for a response.

"It is," she said, and then stood. Remus hoped for a moment that she was going to give him a hug goodbye, but all she said was, "I'm going to find Nancy. See you next year." And then she walked out, leaving him standing there, suitcase in hand. He sighed – at no one in particular – and left to find Matt.

By the time he found Matt – who was glaring at Greyback from a nearby table - Remus was in a reasonably good mood again; he thought Voldemort himself could come back and it wouldn't be able to completely destroy Remus' happiness at the prospect of going home. It was unspoken between them that they wouldn't discuss Debbie yet – not for fear of getting upset, but because the last thing they needed was to have Greyback overhear and make trouble when they were trying to leave.

Matt stood immediately and they shared a grim look before approaching Greyback, who was still with Eric. Greentooth was sitting nearby, shooting Greyback resentful looks; obviously she wasn't allowed near them while Eric was working.

"Yes?" Greyback asked, looking away reluctantly. Eric made a little humming noise and flicked his wand. The ring started to tremble, and Remus tore his eyes away before he could be caught staring.

"We're going home," Remus said.

"Both of you?" Greyback asked.

"Both of us," Matt said, nodding. "We thought leaving separately would be too suspicious."

_More like dangerous, _Remus thought, but he had to choke back a laugh.

"Hmm," Greyback said, and then growled; the ring was fading. "What have you done?!" he snarled, grabbing Eric's jumper. Eric pushed his glasses up – the gesture, oddly, reminded Remus of Harry and James – and pointed at the ring.

Remus was horrified to see that it had now become a jumper, and then relaxed, slightly. It was the one Dora had been wearing _before_ she transfigured it to look like Matt's. Greyback couldn't trace it back to any of them; not Matt, not Dora and not Remus.

"Until next time, then," Greyback said, after almost a minute of silence spent contemplating the jumper. He offered them his hand, and – seeing no way to avoid it – both Remus and Matt shook it. Greyback squeezed Remus' fingers, and his sharp nails cut into the back of his hand. Remus, who already had a split lip, black eye and several large, brightly coloured bruises, was not pleased about the addition to his collection of injuries, but didn't say anything. He'd be home soon. That was all that mattered. "And no suspicious behaviour," Greyback said, releasing him. Remus let his hand fall to his side, even though he wanted to inspect the damage. "Because I'll know, and I'll find you."

"Noted," Remus said, and they left the main building. Remus took a deep breath, breathing in the earthy forest smells. "Free for another year," Remus said, immensely cheered by the thought.

"Yeah," Matt said, looking troubled.

"What?" Remus asked, glancing over.

"I think I might know who Smoky is."

"What?" Remus asked, stopping completely. Matt had stopped too, and glanced behind them at the main building, which was now only just visible though the trees.

"That jumper," Matt said. "I've seen it before. The girl who owns it is an Auror – she's the one that saved me that day in London – the one who cut Greyback's hand."

"Are you sure it's the same one?" Remus asked, positive that that jumper was Dora's, because he'd seen her wear it several times in the past, and equally positive that Dora wasn't Smoky.

"I'm sure," Matt said. "When I woke up in St Mungo's, the Auror – you know the bloke with the funny eye? - was telling her to go to you and she was definitely wearing that jumper. The knitting patterns made me dizzy," he added. Remus was quiet, but still positive that Dora wasn't Smoky. They started to walk again, and made it past Cyclops without any trouble. "Do you think we should talk to her?" Matt asked, as Remus was preparing to Disapparate.

"The Auror girl?" Remus asked, steadying himself. "About what? If she is Smoky, she's not about to admit it."

"Not that," Matt said, shaking his head. "She saved my life, so it's probably fair that we return the favour." Remus gave him a blank look. "If _I_ remember that jumper on her, then Greyback definitely will and he'll start looking for her. And then it's not about _if_ he finds her, it's about _when._" Remus heard an odd choking noise and realised a few seconds later that he'd been the one that made it. "You know the Auror, though, right?" Matt pressed. "You could pass along the warning."

"Yes," Remus said faintly. "Yes, I think that's a very good idea."

* * *

"I swear to Salazar that when I next see Rita Skeeter I am going to hang her in our cellar by her ridiculous curls and feed her leeches until she looks like the parasite that she is!" Narcissa snarled, slamming the latest copy of _Witch Weekly_ down on the table in the tearoom on the top floor or St Mungo's.

Lucius didn't seem at all pleased by the article that had been published either; _Malfoy's Magical Malady: Unfortunate, Or Unavoidable? _ was Skeeter's latest article. Draco had been in and out of St Mungo's with migraines and mental instability since he collapsed at the pureblood Christmas function. Somehow, Skeeter had managed to get her tentacles onto his admission records, and had quotes from Draco's personal Healer about what was wrong with him. Narcissa had had since seen to it that that Healer was not only kept away from Draco, but had lost his job at the hospital.

Skeeter also implied in her article, that Draco's illness was caused by inbreeding. While Narcissa was furious about the breach of confidentiality, Lucius had been most angered by the insult to his bloodline.

"Perhaps we should just feed _her_ to the leeches," Lucius suggested idly, while Narcissa took a moment to admire the deadly glint in his eyes. "We could always ask Draco," he added, when she didn't say anything. Then he paused, and looked troubled. "Do Gryffindors seek revenge?"

"They'll retaliate, I think," Narcissa said, thinking back to the books she'd been reading lately, and what she knew of Gryffindors; mainly Sirius and his friends. "Sirius snapped Uncle Orion's wand the night he left... but revenge... no. I think forgiveness is their preferred course of action." She sighed and Lucius reached across the table to take her hand. "What are we doing, Lucius?" she asked, giving him a small, sad smile.

"Sitting in a tearoom that's in dire need of renovation," Lucius said, curling his lip. "Perhaps a donation is in order..."

"Perhaps," she agreed. "But you know that's not what I meant."

"Do I?" he asked, smirking.

"Draco-"

"-will recover," Lucius assured her. "And quickly, since you insist on bringing him to this... well, call it what you will."

"I'm teaching him to depend on others," she said calmly.

"Your own worry's not a factor, of course," Lucius drawled. She smiled, not deigning to answer, and let him win this one. She knew he thought she was weak for allowing her concern to show. She didn't care. "Besides, aren't Gryffindors supposed to flourish in difficult times? It seems to me that he'd be better without help."

Narcissa sighed; bringing Draco to the hospital when he felt ill would teach him to depend on others. But, that could occur in a trusting, Gryffindor way, or in a strategic, opportunistic Slytherin way. Leaving Draco to struggle through on his own could bring out hidden reserves of Gryffindor strength and bravery, or it could also make Draco wary and aloof and force him to embrace his Slytherin independence.

Really, Gryffindor and Slytherin were two sides of the same galleon and Narcissa had becoming uncomfortably aware of that fact in the past few months. It was a bitter potion to swallow, because she'd always believed the two Houses to be incredibly different. It was both humbling and embarrassing to be forced to question everything she'd been taught as a girl, and she desperately wished she had someone to talk to about it.

That, of course, was very Gryffindor-ish and she'd been forced to consider that Draco wasn't the only one whose personality was beginning to change. At first she'd brushed off the worry, but as time dragged on and she guided her youngest son toward a more Gryffindor frame of mind, she could no longer deny that the things she was impressing on him had taken root in the corners of her mind. It scared her.

The Healers speculated that immense mental and emotional stress were causing Draco's headaches and fainting spells – though they did not, of course, know the cause – and that he was almost constantly on the verge of a mental breakdown. Narcissa thought that if things continued the way they were going, he might not be the only one.

Lucius cleared his throat and she came back to herself with a little jolt of surprise. Lucius was giving her an unreadable look, and she wondered how much of her distraction he understood. Hopefully, he'd think it was worry for Draco. Still, best to not take risks. She assumed her own mask; blank and disapproving, and a little colder than it was warm.

"Shall we go back?" she asked. "The Healers might need rescuing." They'd left Hydrus and Draco in Draco's hospital room. The boys had been immersed in a game of chess, but that was quite some time ago, now. They'd probably finished and whoever had lost – they were evenly matched, so it could have been either of them – would be taking out his bad mood on his brother, and whichever Healer was unfortunate enough to stray into the room.

"A rescue mission, Narcissa?" Lucius asked, arching a pointed eyebrow. "How very noble of you."

"Noble indeed," she murmured, and hoped that Lucius never changed; Hydrus would need a strong, Slytherin role model and she now doubted that he'd find it in her.

_And all of this because Sirius Black stole Harry Potter_, she thought, though she didn't blame either of them all that much. The pair she'd seen in Diagon Alley back in December were innocents. Victims of circumstance and the Dark Lord and the parasites that disguised themselves as reporters. No, it wasn't their fault. The blame for her family's situation rested solely on three pairs of shoulders; the Dark Lord's, her husband's and of course, her own. She could admit that much. Narcissa felt drained, all of a sudden. "Are you coming, Lucius?" she asked, standing.

Lucius mirrored her, and she took his hand and together they left the tearoom. Narcissa played the memory of Harry Potter's carefree smile over and over in her head and hoped to Merlin that seeing Draco smile like that one day would be worth the mess they'd created.

* * *

"Watch it!" a man snapped, shoving Lucius out of the way. A small, dark haired figure hurried after him.

"Excuse me," Lucius drawled, infuriated that someone – probably a mudblood, knowing the standards around here – could be so rude to him, "but I wasn't the one running."

"Lucius?" the man asked, spinning around.

"Ernest," Lucius replied, surprised.

"Narcissa," Ernest added distractedly, spying her beside Lucius. "I didn't see you-"

"Hello, Ernest," Narcissa said in a calm voice. "Hello, Pansy." Ernest's daughter muttered a greeting and Lucius curled his lip when Ernest didn't tell her to speak up. She was a pureblood and should know better than to mumble.

"Pansy," Ernest said, and she glanced up at him. "Why don't you meet me there?" The girl nodded and hurried away without another word. "Sonja's... not well," Ernest said, running a hand through his hair. "She- I don't-" The man was a wreck. He'd actually started to tremble and he looked lost. Lucius sneered.

"You should be with your family," Narcissa said softly, but firmly as she shot Lucius a look. It was the one she used when the boys wanted to take their rats out in public, and he wondered what he'd done to earn it.

"I- yes," Ernest said, and Lucius thought he saw tears in the other man's eyes as he said goodbye and ran off.

"How utterly pathetic," Lucius commented. "The man's completely forgotten himself."

"I think it's understandable," Narcissa said sharply. Then, before Lucius could even respond, she'd added, "I certainly hope you'd look a little lost if it was _me_ that was dying."

"Well," Lucius said, "I-" He paused, unsure how to answer her. It was a given that he'd be upset if something happened to Narcissa, but he wouldn't show it the way Ernest had.

"Close your mouth, Lucius," she quipped. "It's unbecoming." Lucius snapped his mouth shut and glowered at her.

"I'd be put out if you were dying," he said stiffly, clenching his hand around his cane.

"I should think so," she told him and marched off toward Draco's hospital room. Lucius trailed after her, filled with grudging admiration; not many people could disarm him, and of the few that could, fewer could do it with words. Hydrus had a lot to learn from Lucius, in Lucius' opinion – what Draco learned was negligible, at least until he was Sorted and _then_ Lucius could begin conditioning him – but he also thought Hydrus had a lot to learn from Narcissa. The woman was formidable, even more so, Lucius believed, than her lunatic sister.

When he arrived in Draco's private room, Narcissa had indeed rescued a Healer; the man thanked her shakily and fled out of the room, past Lucius. Lucius entered to find Narcissa had already made herself at home; she and Hydrus were setting the chessboard, and Draco was propped up in bed, reading a book.

Lucius stood at Hydrus' shoulder and watched the game. Unlike Lucius, Narcissa never went easy on the boys when they played; she'd told Lucius once that if they wanted to win, they'd have to earn it. And, while Hydrus was a good chess player for his age, his mother had experience to back herself up with.

"No," Lucius said, unable to help himself.

"What?" Hydrus said, glancing up.

Lucius waved his cane at the board and said, "See the bishop? You'd be better moving your knight there, to D3. There's even a pawn to be had."

"Knight to D3," Hydrus said, after a moment. Narcissa's eyes narrowed as the horse kicked the pawn down. Then her eyes flicked up to meet Lucius', challenging him, and Lucius couldn't hold back his smirk.

"Out of the way," he told Hydrus, and Narcissa's mouth curved upward.

"I'm playing!" Hydrus said angrily.

"No longer," Lucius said, nudging his son out of his chair.

"_Father_-"

"You may play the winner," Lucius said and Hydrus stalked over to the edge of Draco's bed and sat down to watch.

"Bishop to A6," Narcissa said.

"Bishop to A6," Lucius echoed, and had the satisfaction of seeing her scowl as another of her pieces was dragged away. Lucius was confident about besting her in this area, at least; Narcissa could handle individuals but Lucius had always preferred to operate on a larger scale. It showed. Within a few moves they were tied again and within a few more, Lucius was winning.

When Narcissa's last piece – other than her king – was taken, she sighed. For a moment, Lucius wondered if she'd knock her king down before he could checkmate it. Then he shook himself. This was his wife and she never surrendered. She did quite well with her single king; she was able to focus on that piece, and that piece alone, which suited her type of strategy. Lucius lost a knight and three pawns and was wondering whether he ought to have left her with another piece as a distraction, when he finally cornered her.

"Checkmate," he said smoothly. Narcissa seemed to have expected it, because she lifted a finger and knocked her king over without hesitation. He toppled with a grumble and Lucius' pieces cheered.

"I'm playing father," Hydrus announced, his pale face set with determination. Narcissa vacated her seat and met Lucius' eyes once more before she went to sit with Draco. "And I want white." Lucius twisted the board; he preferred to play with white too, meaning it was a very good thing Hydrus had those same instincts.

"Manners, Hydrus," Narcissa said, without looking away from Draco, who'd put his book down and was curled up at his mother's side.

"Thank you," Hydrus said to Lucius, glowering at his mother; it was the same look Lucius had given her in the corridor. Narcissa smiled and stroked Draco's hair. Lucius shook his head. Narcissa thought that affectionate gestures – hugs, hair-stroking, that sort of thing – were important for Draco's Gryffindor development.

Children outgrew physical affection at the age of five - or so Lucius' father had told him - and didn't resort back to it until they had a partner. Proper children should make do with the occasional pat on the back, or clasp of the shoulder, or they risked becoming dependent. Lucius had survived that upbringing and so had Narcissa and the generations of purebloods that came before them.

But, Draco wasn't going to be a normal pureblood. He was to be a Gryffindor. A blood traitor. Physical affection was something they thrived on, as far as Lucius could tell.

Lucius turned away from the scene before him and back to Hydrus and the chess match. He agreed with Narcissa's methods of conditioning Draco for Gryffindor, but that didn't mean he had to watch.

* * *

"Tea?"

"No, thank you, sir." It was a little odd for Dumbledore to offer Remus tea in his own home, but that was probably just Dumbledore. Remus fiddled with the fraying sleeve of his robes for a short moment before looking up. "Is it just me, or does this all seem a little... familiar?" Dumbledore's eyes twinkled in a sad way – if that was even possible. It hadn't escaped either wizard's notice that on this day a year ago, they'd sat in the same places and Dumbledore had given Remus the news of Harry's kidnapping.

"Familiar, indeed," Dumbledore said quietly. He pulled a sweet out of his pocket and offered it to Remus, who shook his head. Dumbledore popped it in his mouth.

"So is this a social visit, sir," Remus asked, "or is there an ulterior motive?" Dumbledore's beard twitched and Remus continued with a small, wry smile. "Because last time you showed up in my sitting room..."

"Would you call a well-meaning, but doubtless annoying, intrusion an ulterior motive?" Dumbledore asked pensively.

"I don't know, sir," Remus said.

"Nor do I," Dumbledore said, smiling as he sucked on his sweet. They both sat in companionable silence and then Dumbledore said, "No, I have no bad news to give but thought, Remus, that company might not be unwelcome after your time away. Forgive me if-"

"No," Remus said. "Sir, your company's very welcome. I- thank you." Dumbledore – not knowing that Remus had Sirius and Harry – had taken time off from the school to come and ensure that Remus was all right, and that he wasn't feeling too lonely.

"Minerva and Hagrid send their greetings," Dumbledore added, his eyes twinkling.

"Tell them thank you," Remus said, and Dumbledore inclined his head. "Who's winning the cup at the moment?" Remus added, curious.

"Slytherin," Dumbledore said, smiling slightly.

"I imagine Snape's happy," Remus sighed.

"Not at all," Dumbledore replied. "I asked him to complete a task for me several months ago and I fear he's yet to forgive me."

"What task?" Remus asked, doubting very much that he'd get an answer.

"This and that," Dumbledore said vaguely, and Remus smiled. "I was sorry to hear of your fallout with Lucius."

"My fallout?" Remus asked cautiously.

"I know it wasn't in the note you sent," Dumbledore said, his beard twitching again. "But I have other ways of hearing information, Remus. I understand you caused quite a scene in the Leaky Cauldron on Monday."

"I'm not in the search anymore," Remus offered. He knew about the note – he'd written a note to Dumbledore telling him that Malfoy had sacked him (once the note telling him he'd been sacked had come through from Dora) – but the rest of it was news to him. He'd – or _she'd _- caused a scene? Now he had two things he needed to talk to her about; Greyback and Malfoy.

"I'd gathered," Dumbledore said. "It wasn't right of him to insult you, Remus, but..." _Insult me? Lucius insulted me... and Dora... caused a scene. _He didn't know how he felt about that; torn between feeling touched, vindicated and embarrassed – hopefully Dora hadn't said or done anything too bad while she was him. "... I thought you wanted to be out there searching?" Dumbledore finished gently. Remus' insides gave a guilty squirm.

"I didn't want to search," Remus said. "I wanted to _find_."

"I understand it's frustrating-"

"It's been a year," Remus said. And he'd been with Harry for almost six months of that year, and with Sirius for just over five months. "The search is no closer to finding either of them and it's wasting my time." He looked down at his shoes so Dumbledore wouldn't read the guilt or anything else that could give him away off his face.

"Remus-"

"I've thought about this," Remus said quietly. "I know what I'm doing." _Sort of. _

"If you're certain."

"I am."

"What will you do with your time?" Dumbledore asked, looking concerned. "The Rosier boy no longer needs lessons and you won't be working anymore-"

"I'll find something."

"Come September, we'll be in need of a Muggle Studies teacher," Dumbledore said shrewdly. "There's always that."

"I think I'm better suited to teach Care Of Magical Creatures," Remus joked, and earned a chuckle from Dumbledore. "What's wrong with Quirrell?"

"He's taking time off to travel," Dumbledore said. "I think he's growing restless in the Muggle Studies job – he's after something a little more 'hands on', or so I've been told and he hopes to get the experience required while he's abroad."

"Good for him," Remus said, nodding. "But if _Quirrell's_ getting restless..." Dumbledore chuckled; Quirrell had graduated from Hogwarts a few years after Remus and had always been incredibly quiet and studious. While Remus was hardly a rambunctious personality, he did like a bit of excitement.

"Perhaps Defence Against the Dark Arts?" Dumbledore offered with a sigh. "Davey's beginning to have trouble with his eyesight and I suspect it'll only get worse as the end of term draws nearer. We'll be in need of another Defence teacher soon, and I fear I'm beginning to exhaust my list of contacts."

"And you'd want me?" Remus asked.

"I've made similar proposals to Sturgis Podmore and Thomas Rattler, but yes, Remus. Your addition to the faculty would be a welcome one." Remus opened his mouth. "Even," Dumbledore added, guessing his next comment, "with your condition. Arrangements can be made as they were when you were a student yourself."

"Rattler?" Remus asked, instead of saying something self-depreciating. Dumbledore seemed to know that he'd stopped himself, and smiled.

"Thomas went through with the Prewett twins." Remus could vaguely remember a short, blond man with a friendly voice. He thought he'd been a prefect. "Ravenclaw prefect," Dumbledore continued. "Very bright."

"Is he an Auror?"

"He was a Hit Wizard until two years ago and now he's working closely with Amelia in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement." Remus nodded slowly. "And you know Sturgis, of course." Sturgis had been a member of the Order and quite good friends with Benji Fenwick and Emmeline Vance.

"How is Bean?" Remus asked, his mouth twitching. Sirius had given him the nickname when Marlene joined the Order; Sturgis had taken a liking to her that Sirius _hadn't_ liked much at all. They'd all moved past that – Marlene had shouted at Sirius until he apologised – but the nickname had stayed. Dumbledore looked torn between amusement at the reminder, and sadness – obviously he knew where 'Bean' had come from. "Still with Wizarding Law?"

"And enjoying it too," Dumbledore said. Remus chuckled. Even in the Order days, Sturgis – a Slytherin, and proud of it – had been argumentative, and prone to bringing up obscure wizarding laws as points of debate during quiet patrols or at Order meetings. Despite his expertise in theory, however, Sturgis was still a formidable opponent, and knew all sorts of unusual spells that he'd come across in various legal cases. "I doubt I'll be able to pry him away to teach."

"He'd be a good teacher, though," Remus said.

"He would," Dumbledore agreed. Dumbledore watched Remus' face for a moment, and then looked disappointed. "You're not interested? I thought you'd always wanted to teach-"

"I have," Remus said. "It's just- right now things are sort of... messy." Unwilling to expand on that comment, Remus added, "Maybe in a year or two?"

"I may hold you to that," Dumbledore said, looking amused.

"And here I was believing there were no ulterior motives..."

"None at all, dear boy," Dumbledore said with a chuckle. "Though I did come bearing stories for you about Hogwarts' newest resident troublemakers."

"Oh?" Remus asked, intrigued despite himself; it was obviously a diversionary tactic – perhaps Dumbledore had sensed Remus' unwillingness to talk about overly serious things today – and Remus wondered whether Dumbledore was getting worse at distracting him, or if he was getting better at spotting the subtle manipulations.

"Poor Argus has had to relocate to the Ground Floor," Dumbledore said in a grave voice. His beard twitched and Remus arched an eyebrow, inviting him to continue. "There was an incident with two rather spirited first years, a Dungbomb and his old office..."


	41. A Moment Of Clarity

"Here," Padfoot said, passing him a cup. Harry gulped it down, grimacing at the bitter taste. It was March, and his Form Revealer was finally ready. They'd watered it down – Padfoot had said something about the mind of a child, and Harry had remembered the conversation Dumbledore had had with Fudge and Umbridge at St Mungo's when they talked about Veritaserum – which would hopefully stop it from doing any damage to Harry.

What that meant, however, was that it would take longer for him to find his form. Or, for his form to find him. Padfoot likened it to wands, where the form chose the wizard, and not the other way around.

"See you when I wake up," Harry said, already feeling the potion pulling him toward sleep.

"Night, kiddo," Padfoot said, and Harry felt a hand in his hair before he slipped away.

_It was dark, wherever he was. He waited for his eyes to adjust and when they did, he could see trees. Harry suspected a forest – a forest was a good place to find animals._

_Or to be found by animals. He wasn't fussed either way, though he felt silly in his pyjamas. He sat down on the exposed root of a large tree and waited. Padfoot had warned him that quite a few animals would come to see him before the right animal did. Harry was expecting there to be more animals because of the weaker dose and Padfoot had also said that an animal might not pick him on its first visit. Harry hadresigned himself to a long night._

_The hare was the first to appear. It was black, with grey markings around its eyes and a white smudge between its ears. The white smudge was uncannily similar to the scar that rested on Harry's forehead. The hare hopped forward, ears swivelling and nose twitching and it occurred to Harry that it was only a young one; its ears were still quite short and it was smaller and fluffier than an adult would be. Harry shifted slightly and held out a hand but that startled it and it darted away._

_Nothing came for a while after that, and Harry wondered whether he'd managed to scare his form away. What if he was supposed to be a hare, and it didn't come back? Or, what if it had chosen him and he hadn't realised? All Padfoot had said was that he'd know. But what if he didn't?_

_The next animal to appear was an owl, which inched out of a hole in a tree trunk. He didn't know what sort of owl it was, but like the hare, it was black, with a white mark – a feather, between its large eyes – where his scar would be. It was downier than Hedwig had been when they'd first bought her, and Harry wondered whether it could even fly. It ruffled its feathers and clicked its beak at him and Harry wondered whether that meant he'd been picked. _

_An owl would be a decent form, even if it wasn't something he'd predicted; they seemed too wise for him. He wouldn't complain, though; he'd be able to fly whenever he wanted, and it would be a good disguise. Harry spent a few moments entertaining himself with the possibility, but when he glanced back up at the branch, it was gone._

_Harry shot to his feet and went to have a look, but no signs of it remained. Not a feather, or even the hole it had come out of were anywhere to be seen. Confused, and feeling like he'd have a serious headache when this ordeal was over, Harry sat down again and waited._

_The next animal to emerge was the one he'd expected a visit from at some point, and the one he dreaded being picked by, and also dreaded _not_ being picked by. It was a young stag with a dark brown coat and only a few inches of antler starting to grow on its head. Despite that, it trotted forward with its head held high. It gave its tail a little wag and pushed its nose into Harry's outstretched hand, but Harry didn't feel as if he'd been picked. He thought the young stag just wanted to butt heads with something. Up close, Harry could see a discoloured patch of fur in the shape of a lightning bolt._

_Eventually, the stag seemed to get bored with him and pranced off – though it did glance back at one point, and Harry got the impression it was looking for admiration. He gave it a little wave and it vanished with a satisfied toss of its head._

_Harry was expecting something large – since the animals had all become progressively bigger – and so was surprised when something slithered over his bare foot. It was a black snake – a viper, he thought – and he immediately froze; Dudley had once found a grass snake in the back garden and Aunt Petunia had shrieked at him to stand still until it went away. It hissed at him and wrapped itself around his ankle. Again, Harry didn't feel like he'd been picked; he thought it wanted to unnerve him, but Harry knew he couldn't be poisoned in a dream and so wasn't afraid of it._

_It too, seemed to want attention, because its tongue kept flicking against Harry's pyjama covered leg, and it kept moving, just to make sure his attention was wholly focused on it. Like the stag had, however, it seemed to get bored and slithered away after a few moments._

_After the snake was a blackbird, which – like the hare – was frightened away the moment Harry moved. After that was a cat, which had judged him with large, green eyes before flicking its tail and sauntering away again. There had even been a dog that vaguely resembled Padfoot's dog form, with its black fur, lean build and seemingly limitless energy; the dog had bounded over and started to lick Harry's face, before coaxing him to chase it around for a bit. The dog, vanished like the owl had, when Harry wasn't looking._

* * *

"Would you sit still!" Remus said, throwing a piece of toast at Sirius. "Honestly, if you're that worried, just go and check on him-"

"I don't want to-"

"Disrupt the process," Remus said, rolling his eyes. "You've said." Sirius pulled a face and kept pacing. Harry had taken the potion last night before bed so that he wouldn't lose any time. In theory, anyway; Sirius had been up at six – as he was most mornings – and had expected Harry to wake up not long after. Remus had arrived at nine and Harry was still asleep, or Sirius assumed he was; he hadn't come bounding downstairs to share his news.

Sirius picked up the toast Remus had thrown, Vanished it, and kept pacing.

"Sirius!" Remus said exasperatedly. "Sit!" Sirius sat and then cursed himself for doing so. He leapt back to his feet – making Remus laugh all the harder - and threw himself into his chair, scowling. "I'm so glad you never outgrew that," Remus said, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes.

"Sod off, Moony," Sirius said, raising two fingers in his direction. Without hesitation – Sirius wondered if he'd anticipated it – Remus flicked his wand and Sirius' fingers snapped together. Sirius wiggled them and then pulled out his wand and muttered, "_Finite Incantatem." _Oddly, it didn't work, and they stayed stuck together.

"It's in that book of parenting spells I bought you for Christmas," Remus said, as Sirius attempted to pry his fingers apart. "If you want the counter-charm, go and look it up."

"You could do it for me," Sirius said hopefully.

"I could," Remus agreed. "But I'm not going to. This'll keep you occupied for a few minutes at least." He helped himself to another piece of toast. Sirius glowered at him but Remus didn't seem to notice or care.

"Fine," Sirius grumbled and stomped out. He walked upstairs to fetch the book instead of Summoning it – Remus was right that it was a good way to kill time – but he didn't stay in the library. He carried the book upstairs and settled himself in Harry's desk chair, beside the bed. Harry lay very still, occasionally making small, indistinguishable noises. It was unnerving because Harry – like James – was usually a very vocal, very restless sleeper.

Sirius flicked past the introduction – interesting as some of the spells might be, he didn't need to know the life story of the witch who'd written it – and though several chapters of household charms and recipes before he reached the _Dealing With Children_ section.

"Broccoli Bashing Charm?" Sirius muttered under his breath. The illustration showed a child being attacked by her vegetables – it appeared it wasn't limited to broccoli - until she gave in and ate them. A side-note warned parents to be careful; the charm was countered by saliva on the vegetable, not by actual consumption and clever children could work this out. He shook his head and skimmed through until he found the page he was looking for. "Disrespectful Digit Jinx. Huh."

Apparently the usual _Finite_ hadn't worked because the spell was aimed at older children – or husbands, according to the author – who would be able to counter it easily. Sirius had to admire the logic behind that and found the counter spell at the bottom of the page. He grimaced and pulled his wand out of his pocket.

"Disrespectful digits: discouraged," he said, feeling like a complete prat. It worked though, thankfully, and he had a bit more of a look through the book before he shut it and moved a few things to make room for it on Harry's bedside table. Sirius checked his watch – the one Regulus had been given when he turned seventeen. Sirius' – which he'd received from Charlus and Dorea – was probably locked up in a Ministry facility with the rest of the things he'd owned before Azkaban.

It was now eleven, meaning Harry had been asleep for nearly thirteen hours. Sirius didn't think anything could have gone wrong with the potion – he'd supervised it every step of the way – but he didn't remember it taking this long for James or Peter to find their forms. Peter had only been out three and a half hours, and James had taken four hours. Sirius didn't know exactly how long he'd taken, but he knew he'd taken longer than Peter but significantly less time than Harry.

"You all right in there, kiddo?" Sirius asked. There was a noise behind him and Remus walked in. Sirius wiggled his fingers at him.

"Stupid counter phrase, isn't it?" Remus said, chuckling. He cleared a space on Harry's desk and sat down. Sirius adjusted his chair so that he could see them both.

"Bloody ridiculous," Sirius agreed. "Back when we did this, how long was I-?" He gestured at Harry, who squeaked. Both of them looked at him, but he showed no signs of waking.

"Four hours, three minutes," Remus answered. Sirius looked over, impressed.

"You remember that?"

"You would too if you'd had James hopping up and down, counting every second over four hours," Remus said, sounding fondly exasperated.

"Prat," Sirius said, grinning; no one had ever mentioned this to him before. Remus smiled too and then looked over at Harry. "Why isn't he awake yet?"

"Probably a combination of the dose and his age," Sirius said reluctantly. "But there's so little research that's been done on this that it's hard to say."

"The dose?"

"He had a diluted potion. I figure it's best not to give kids a strong dose of anything that affects their head."

"I must say I'm proud that you thought about that."

"Sod off," Sirius said, for the second time that morning. Remus grinned.

"And age?"

"This is all guesswork," Sirius warned him. "But because he's young I think maybe his personality's not fully formed... he's still developing. So maybe – if my theory's right – there are more possible forms. All theoretical, though," he sighed, while Remus nodded thoughtfully. "And even if I'm right, thirteen hours is still a long time."

* * *

_After a quivering, black mouse that Harry scared away just by looking at, Harry was beginning to get worried, though he'd been relieved it wasn't the mouse; that would have been too similar to Wormtail for his liking._

_He didn't have much grasp on how quickly time was passing here, but he did know that he'd been watching animals for a very long time and still hadn't found his. What if he'd already been chosen – the stag, the dog and the snake had all approached him and hung around for a bit – and not realised? _

_Harry wished he could wake up and talk to Padfoot about it, but that wasn't an option, because the potion was enchanted to keep him asleep until he found his form._

_Harry waited, growing more and more nervous with each passing moment, when finally another animal moved into Harry's line of sight. It was a wolf and a young one, like the other animals had been; it was lanky, with big ears and big paws that it was yet to grow into, and thick black fur that was just as untidy as Harry's hair._

_ He held out a hand and it considered him for a long moment before it stepped forward to sniff him. Harry scratched its ear – the way Padfoot liked to have his scratched – and was rewarded by its tail starting to wag. Then, without warning, it pulled free and loped off._

_Harry sighed and watched it disappear into the undergrowth._

_A very long time later, a falcon dove out of the tree tops. It had sleek, black feathers and large dark eyes and it came to perch on a lower branch than the owl or blackbird had done. It looked down its sharp beak at him, assessing him and then screeched. Harry jumped, but it didn't move. Tentatively, he stood and approached it. It watched him the whole time and allowed him to stroke its feathery head._

_Suddenly, it lifted a clawed foot and raked him across the nose. Harry stepped back, shielding his face; blood – not an alarming amount, but enough to know that it would probably scar if it was a real injury and not a dream one – dripped onto his hands._

_"What was that for?" he demanded, but the falcon was gone. "Bloody menace," he muttered, wiping his face on his sleeve. He turned, intending to reclaim his seat, but found it already occupied. The wolf was back, watching him with bright, greenish brown eyes. Harry wondered if it was going to attack him too, and sat down where he'd been standing, a safe distance away. The wolf sat too._

_They eyed each other warily for a few moments, and then something hit the ground beneath the wolf's paws. It was blood, dripping from a long cut on the wolf's nose._

* * *

"Bloody menace," Harry muttered, twitching. It was the first coherent noise he'd made, and Sirius jerked in his seat. Remus also appeared surprised; he'd jumped and knocked a shoe off Harry's desk – Merlin only knew what it was doing up there in the first place. Harry was bleeding from a rather nasty cut on his nose.

"It must be a Potter thing," Remus sighed. James had been hurt finding Prongs; apparently, Prongs had chosen him by charging, and James, being the brave prat that he was, had held his ground. He'd split his forehead and woken up with an enormous headache, though thankfully, Remus and Sirius had been able to heal the damage. "Would you like me to get the Dittany?"

"Nah. Kreacher!" Kreacher Apparated in with a noisy CRACK and bowed to them both, before letting out a wordless shriek at the sight of Harry. He didn't even need to be told to get the Dittany; he vanished and reappeared a few seconds later with his skinny arms wrapped around the entire chest of healing supplies Sirius kept in the pantry.

"Kreacher's poor brat," Kreacher croaked, pulling things out of the chest before Sirius could get a word in. "Kreacher will-"

"Put that away," Sirius said, wrestling a Decongestion Draught away from Kreacher. "He's hurt, not sick. All he needs is a few drops of Dittany-" Kreacher, like most house elves, were very good at treating common illnesses, but next to useless with injuries any worse than a bruise. The only exception Sirius had ever met was Noddy, the house elf who'd lived with the Potters when James was growing up. She'd known how to deal with grazes, burns and even broken bones, though Sirius supposed she'd have had to if she'd helped raise _James_.

"Kreacher, I don't think that's necessary," Remus said kindly, as Kreacher snatched up an enormous bandage and made his way over to the bed.

"Honestly," Sirius said, rolling his eyes.

He threw the Dittany at Remus, who caught it but didn't apply it just yet – it was best to wait until Harry woke up – and took the bandage away from his distressed house elf. Funny as it might have been to watch Kreacher wrap Harry's face in bandages – which Sirius had no doubt had been his intention – it would have been a complete waste of a bandage. Someone – probably Remus – would have greater need of it than Harry.

"Thank you, Kreacher," Sirius said pointedly. He threw everything back into the chest and deposited it in Kreacher's arms. "Put this away, would you?"

"We'll look after Harry," Remus assured him, and Kreacher left.

"He's a lunatic," Sirius said fondly, shaking his head at the place where Kreacher had just Disapparated. "Not as foul as he used to be, but still every bit as loopy-"

"I think Harry's waking up," Remus said, and Sirius hurried over. Sure enough, Harry was stirring. He shifted a few times, and muttered something about blood before he gasped and sat bolt upright. He seemed confused, initially – that was to be expected – but Sirius passed him his glasses and that helped considerably.

"Did you come early?" he asked Remus, looking surprised.

"It's twelve, kiddo," Sirius told him, and Harry blinked.

"Lie back down for a moment," Remus added. "I'll fix your nose."

"My- I thought I dreamed that!" Sirius pushed him down gently and Remus dripped Dittany onto the cut.

"Thanks," Harry said, as Sirius Vanished the blood. A thin scar remained on the bridge of Harry's nose, a little lower than where his glasses rested. Remus added another drop of Dittany but the scar stayed. They shrugged at each other, while Harry went cross eyed, trying to see the tip of his nose. "What's wrong?" he asked, sitting back up.

"Small scar," Sirius told him.

"I thought you'd Vanished my nose or something," Harry said, relaxing, though he felt it, just to make sure. Sirius sniggered.

"I might not be quite as good at healing magic as Sirius, but it's hard to go wrong with Dittany," Remus said, chuckling. Harry gave him an apologetic look, which Remus accepted with a grin.

"So?" Sirius asked, sitting down on the edge of Harry's bed.

"So what?" Harry asked, cocking his head.

"So what are you?" Sirius asked, rolling his eyes.

"Oh!" Sirius waited expectantly and then Harry grinned and said, "Guess."

"What are our options?" Remus asked, while Sirius muttered about little monsters, and evil godchildren. Harry poked his tongue out at him, eyes dancing, and took a moment to answer.

"Hare, wolf, cat, owl, stag, blackbird, mouse, dog, falcon and snake," Harry said, very quickly. Sirius, who'd been hoping to smell the answer, wondered if he'd done that way on purpose.

"Not a mouse," Remus said, and Harry shook his head. Sirius was relieved about that. He'd have accepted it if he'd had to, of course but he was happy not to have to. It was too close to Wormtail.

"Not a hare either," Sirius said. "They're too timid."

"So are blackbirds," Harry said.

"Was your form the one that attacked you?" Sirius asked, and Harry shook his head.

"Not an owl, or falcon, then."

"Says who?" Harry asked.

"They're the only things that could have made a cut that neat," Remus said, obviously following Sirius' line of thought. "And I can't honestly see you as a cat."

"Which leaves wolf, stag, dog or snake," Sirius said thoughtfully. "You're too warm to be a snake." Both Harry and Remus gave him odd looks. "What?" Sirius asked. "It's true. Besides, you think he could have a mop like this-" He waved at Harry's messy hair. "-and _not_ have fur?"

"Are you a snake?" Remus asked.

"No," Harry said. Sirius gave them both smug looks and Remus rolled his eyes.

"So wolf, stag or dog..." Sirius said quietly. He looked up, caught Remus' eye and smiled.

"Wolf," Harry said, scratching his nose absently. Sirius grinned. Remus looked surprised but pleased. "A black one," Harry added. "It looks a bit like you, Padfoot." Sirius' eyes were stinging. He hugged Harry and used the time to blink until the stinging feeling went away. Remus hugged him next and when he'd been released, Harry ran a hand through his hair and said, "Do you think Dad's disappointed?" Remus and Sirius shared a look, silently asking the other who wanted to deal with the question.

"Why would you think that?" Sirius asked, frowning at him. Harry mumbled something about not being a stag. "Ah," Sirius said. Then, he smacked Harry, who jumped and looked at him like he'd lost it. "Don't be thick," Sirius said, throwing an arm around his godson's thin shoulders. Harry shifted a little closer. "James would be incredibly proud – _is_ incredibly proud. I'm sure he's sobbing like a big girl's blouse, wherever he is." Remus laughed and Harry smiled reluctantly.

"So he wouldn't mind that I'm not like him?" Harry asked.

"Absolutely not," Sirius said firmly. Harry could have been a slug and James would still be thrilled. "I think he'd be happy that you were a bit different, actually. And so would your mum; one James Potter was enough for her, I think." Remus laughed. While Harry shared a lot of his father's traits, he was also very different; he was a lot more mature than James had been at eleven (that was when Sirius had first met him and so he had no earlier reference point) and he had an ego that was at least ten times smaller. He was also nowhere near as naughty, which Sirius was unbelievably grateful for. "Don't you like your form?"

"No, I do," Harry said, grinning, though it faded after a moment. "You're both dogs and now I'm one too, it's just... Dad-"

"-would be feeling pretty smug about his choice of godfather," Sirius said, grinning. "And godmother," he added, glancing at Remus, who pulled a face. "The only thing he'd be upset about is not being here to tell you this himself. He's proud of you, kiddo, trust me."

Harry looked thoughtful and Sirius thought they'd convinced him, at least for the time being; no doubt he'd think about it a bit more and find a concern they hadn't addressed, but Harry wasn't very good at keeping his feelings bottled up, so they'd know if or when he did think of something else.

"Could I maybe have breakfast?" Harry asked. "Or lunch," he amended, glancing at his watch.

"Hungry, are you?" Remus asked, smiling.

"Starving," Harry admitted.

"Kreacher's probably preparing something now," Sirius said. "Go on." He stood so that Harry could get out of bed. Harry did and bounded out of the room with Sirius and Remus only a few steps behind. "You owe me a galleon," Sirius muttered; Remus had thought there was a very good possibility that Harry's form would be a stag. It was easy to see where Remus was coming from and Sirius probably would have agreed with him if not for the confidence difference between father and son.

James' confidence had been that not-arrogant-but-close-to-it type, and he had been proud of his antlers, worn them like a crown; that, as well as the size of them was where the nickname Prongs had come from. Harry's confidence was quieter than James' and much harder to see - and occasionally it wasn't there at all – and Sirius imagined that if Harry's form had antlers, he'd spend all of his time worrying about whether he was holding his head properly, and if it was possible to hide or remove them. Antlers, quite simply, were too flashy to suit Harry.

And so, Sirius had bet against Remus, saying that not only would Harry not be a stag, but that he wouldn't be a dog; while Harry shared several canine qualities, he wasn't quite... playful enough to be a dog. A wolf was a bit more serious than a dog – though they still had a playful streak . Sirius hadn't guessed wolf at all – hadn't even considered it, actually - but he thought it fit rather nicely.

"I'll pay you tomorrow," Remus muttered back, grinning.

Harry bounced down the last few kitchen steps, where Kreacher pounced on him and started to cast diagnostic charms, before deeming him healthy and passing him a loaded plate.

Remus was passed a cup of tea and took the seat opposite Harry. Sirius stayed at the bottom of the stairs, watching his godson, who was picking at his food, looking thoughtful. He felt Sirius' stare, looked up, and smiled, before returning to his breakfast with more enthusiasm. Sirius continued to watch, a sad, proud smile on his face.

_I hope you can see him, Prongs. _

* * *

This lesson, Draco had been told to rearrange Severus's shelves of ingredients. Draco had complained but Severus had been adamant - actually, he'd told Draco to beg, and Draco was too proud to do that, even if it would get him out of the job.

"Is there any particular way you want it, sir?"

"I want you to be able to find anything up there at a moment's notice," Severus said, and went back to marking essays. Draco grumbled under his breath and started to take things down. "Is everything all right?" Severus asked. There were a number of things Draco could have replied with but he bit his tongue and nodded. "Then I see no need for you to be making any noise."

Draco's fist tightened around the phial of spider's venom he was holding. It shattered. Glass cut his palm and tinkled as it hit the stone floor, while the venom dribbled down his arm and dripped onto his shoes.

"Sorry," he mumbled as Severus swept over to clear away the mess. It was gone with a flick of his wand and then he grabbed Draco's wrist inspected his palm. He summoned two small bottles from the cabinet on the far side of the room. The contents of one made a ghostly spider crawl out of the cut and along Draco's forearm before it disappeared, while the other was just Dittany, and healed the cut instantly.

"Wouldn't want you to be poisoned, would we?" Severus asked, tracing his wand along the smooth skin. "Merlin knows you're frail enough as it is." Draco snatched his hand back.

"Are you calling me weak?"

"So quick to expect an insult," Severus tutted, but his eyes were bright; "I was merely alluding to-"

"The Healers say I'm getting better," he said defensively. "I haven't been in for two weeks, now."

"And I suppose you think that's admirable?" Severus drawled. "I haven't been to St Mungo's in years."

"You came to visit me," Draco said. "The day before I was released." Severus made a soft, choking noise. Draco grinned.

"I had forgotten," he said.

"Apparently," Draco muttered.

"Get back to work," Severus snapped, lowering himself into his chair. He scribbled something on a piece of parchment and Draco wondered if Severus was going to take his foul mood out on one of his students. He suspected the idea should have appealed to him far more than it did. It actually made him feel rather guilty.

"How long have you been here?" Severus asked, quite some time later. This was a common question, and so Draco knew better than to say he didn't know.

"Erm..." Draco paused, a jar of butterfly wings halfway to the shelf he wanted to put it on. "Two hours, perhaps?"

"One hour, twenty minutes," Severus sneered. "You must be having more fun than you let on if you think time's passed that quickly."

Draco scowled and slammed the jar down. Severus's quill began to scratch again.

Five minutes later - Draco was sure, because he'd started to count under his breath - a loud CRACK echoed through the office and Severus knocked over his inkwell with a curse.

"Dobby," Draco said, and even smiled a bit. He'd appreciated Dobby more lately; things weren't confusing with Dobby - all he wanted was orders, not opinions or for Draco to complete strange tasks - and because Dobby was the one who came to rescue Draco from his visits with Severus.

"Dobby is sorry," Dobby said, giving Severus a pleading look. "Dobby knows that Master wanted longer than Dobby has given them, but Dobby is being sent to collect Master Draco. Mistress Sonja is dying, sir."

"She's been dying for months," Severus sighed. Dobby's ears flapped as he shook his head.

"Sir does not understand," he said shrilly. "Mistress is dying today! Mistress Pansy and Master Ernest is most upset, sir, and Dobby's Mistress Narcissa is sending him to be getting the young master."

"She's dead?" Draco asked blankly. He'd known she was sick - even Greg and Vince knew, and they were thick - but he'd never imagined her dying.

"'Tis most sad, little master!" Dobby said, wringing his hands. "Dobby fears he will have to be mopping the drawing room for all the tears." Draco looked at Severus, who was looking grim.

"Go," he said. Draco dropped the griffin mane hairs he was holding and grabbed onto Dobby. Severus turned back to his marking as Dobby turned on the spot.

Draco found himself standing in the drawing room; Dobby pried Draco off him and hurried out of the room. Ernest was sitting in one of the armchairs, his head buried in his hands. Mother had a hand on his knee and was speaking quietly, while Father sat beside her. His face was completely unreadable.

Pansy was sitting on the other side of the room with Hydrus. She was sitting unnaturally still with her hands clasped tightly in her lap and as Draco moved closer, he noticed that she was also shaking.

"- then I told Goyle that there's no way he could outfly me; honestly," Hydrus said, "has he seen the size of himself-"

"Hi," Draco said quietly; Pansy didn't appear to hear him.

"Oh, it's you," Hydrus said. "Did you hear about Mrs Park-"

"I heard, thank you," Draco said loudly, before Hydrus could say anything else. "I'm sorry, Pansy." He sat down on the arm of the chair - something Hydrus wasn't allowed to do, but Draco could - and put his hand on her shoulder. She squeaked and looked up.

"Draco," she muttered. "Hello."

"He said he was sorry," Hydrus said, and Draco saw her face crumple.

"I must have missed that," she said in a low strained voice. Draco squeezed into the chair next to her and hugged her, but she pushed him away; he'd learned, recently, that hugs made people feel better, but few of their friends seemed to know this. Draco was secretly convinced that he and Mother had stumbled across a rare form of magic. Still, he couldn't blame Pansy for wanting her space. He climbed back on to the arm of the chair.

"Did you miss what I said too?" Hydrus demanded.

"Sorry," Pansy mumbled.

"I forgive you," Hydrus drawled. "What I said was-"

"Hydrus," Draco said. "Shut up."

"I'm telling Mother you said that," Hydrus said, looking furious.

Draco ignored him; at the mention of the word 'mother', Pansy had buried her face in her hands. A glance over at Ernest showed that he was still in the same position. Draco patted her knee - the way Mother was doing - but Pansy kicked him away. Not hard, though.

"Are you _crying_?" Hydrus asked gleefully, trying to get a look at her face; his anger at Draco was apparently forgotten in the face of this new development. "Draco, look! Wait until we tell the others that she cried in front of us!" Pansy seemed to be trying to calm herself down; Hydrus' reaction wasn't surprising – purebloods didn't cry, or if they did, it wasn't in front of anyone. It made them look weak. Draco, however, though crying was perfectly reasonable at a time like this.

"I'm not telling anyone anything," he said, folding his arms. "She can cry if she wants to." Hydrus ignored him as Pansy wiped her eyes on her sleeve.

"Would you like a handkerchief, Pansy?" Hydrus cackled. Something in Draco snapped.

"Just shut up!" Draco shouted. "Can't you see she's upset?!" Hydrus gawked at him. Pansy was looking down at her hands again, so he couldn't see her face.

"You're more upset than she is about the whole thing," Hydrus drawled, recovering. "It wasn't _our_ mother."

Pansy burst into tears again, and Hydrus smirked. It was strange; Draco had been confused for months about what to say and how to act. He'd spent five minutes giving thought on how to greet everyone before the last pureblood function, and he'd hesitated before responding to things, just in case he accidentally offended someone. But at that moment, everything was clear and he didn't hesitate before he launched himself at Hydrus.

Hydrus screamed as they tumbled into the back of the armchair and it tipped over. Pansy gave a little hiccough of surprise, and looked horrified by Draco's behaviour. He didn't care.

"Get off!" Hydrus cried. "Father! Mother! Help!" Draco stood up, disgusted.

"I wasn't going to hit you," he said, looking down at his brother, who was curled in a ball, looking dishevelled. He'd wanted to give him a bit of a fright, that was all, and from the looks of things, he'd succeeded.

"What is going on!?" Father demanded, seizing Draco's shoulder in an uncomfortably tight grip. Draco turned around, wincing – not out of fear, but because Father was hurting him. Ernest – like Pansy – looked stunned, but beside him, Mother looked... Draco wasn't sure. Not proud, but something similar. Triumphant, maybe. And worried for Hydrus, of course.

"He attacked me," Hydrus said furiously. "I feel dizzy, Father; I think I hit my head!"

"You did not," Draco snapped, though he was a little worried. "We were on the armchair when we hit the ground- ah." Father squeezed his shoulder again. Hydrus tried to stand and fell over.

"I can't get up," he said pitifully. "Everything's spinning." Mother hurried over and crouched beside him. She brushed his hair back, looked into his eyes – which Draco thought focused on her a little too easily for Hydrus to be as dizzy as he claimed – and then helped him up. She called Dobby, who took hold of both of them and Disapparated. Draco saw Hydrus smirk before he vanished.

_He's not really hurt, _Draco thought, and was relieved and then angry. _He's putting it on to get me into trouble!_

Father watched them and then turned to Draco, looking just as angry as Hydrus had.

"He deserved it," Draco said, but somehow he didn't expect Father to understand. Father glanced at Ernest and then at Draco.

"We will discuss this later," he said in a voice as sharp as glass and louder than was necessary; he probably wanted Ernest to know that Draco wasn't going to get away without punishment.

"Fine," Draco said, shrugging Father's hand off. Father gave him a searching look and then strode back to his chair. Draco sat down on the edge of Pansy's again.

"What is wrong with you?" she asked, looking horrified. "You attacked your own brother!"

"He deserved it," Draco said again. He'd stick by that response; this was the first thing he'd done in a long time without thinking about. Everything had seemed clear. He hadn't questioned himself, or questioned what everyone else would think. Surely that meant he was right.

_I think I am_, he thought tentatively.

Pansy didn't seem to know what to make of his response. She stared at him for a long time, through big, watery brown eyes and then looked away, sniffing.

"I don't care that you're crying," Draco offered, as her shoulders shook. "I'd be upset if it was my mother." Pansy let out a little trembling breath. "And I'm not going to tease you about it." Her hands clenched in her lap. "I really am sorry, Pansy."

"I think I'd like that hug now," she choked.


	42. Nowhere To Run

Harry was lying on his stomach in the drawing room, watching the little golden snake wriggle around on the carpet. He'd finally got around to finishing Regulus' snake puzzle – it was a nice distraction from all the reading about spell creation that Padfoot was making him do before the next step of his Animagus process.

Padfoot thumped down the stairs and entered and Harry quickly looked back to the book he was supposed to be reading. Padfoot chuckled.

"Still playing with that thing?" he asked, nudging the snake with his trainer. It reared up and Padfoot stepped back. Its golden fangs struck air and then it went back to slithering around. "How's the book?"

"Dunno," Harry said. Padfoot raised an eyebrow. "I... er... haven't started it yet." Padfoot laughed and flicked his wand at the cabinet where they kept the locket. He pulled it out and draped it over the arm of one of the couches. "Do you have another idea?"

"Maybe," Padfoot sighed; he'd put the locket in the cabinet about a month ago and left it there because he'd run out of ways to try to destroy it. "Moony suggested using something corrosive last night, and I've done some reading today, so I thought I might give it a try." He pulled his wand and muttered something – Harry watched intently – but nothing happened. "_Comedus_," he said, frowning.

"What's it supposed to do?"

"Cover the target in a corrosive layer," Padfoot said, making a jabbing motion with his wand. "Maybe it's _Comedum_," he said uncertainly, and then tried that. "You know what? I'm going to go and get the book." He gave the locket a dirty look and stalked out.

Harry went back to watching the snake, which had made it to the base of the couch. He reached out and grabbed the tip of its tail to drag it back, but it didn't seem to like that; it turned around and bit him.

Harry swore and let go, but its mouth was clamped tightly around the skin on his wrist. He gave it a little shake, which hurt, and then held his arm up, hoping the snake would drop off, but it refused to.

"Get off," he muttered, wincing. "Let go." He tried to prise its mouth open but it wouldn't move. "Come on," he wheedled. "Open up. Just open- yes!" The snake dropped back to the carpet and slithered around, apparently content. Harry sucked on the bite, which was bleeding and rubbed his forehead, which had started to itch.

"It's _Comedo_," Padfoot called from the stairs. "_Comedo, _not _Comedus-" _Harry looked up in time to see him freeze in the doorway.

"What?" Harry asked, following his gaze. His mouth fell open and he scrambled to his feet. Bright green eyes and gleaming hazel eyes followed him. "Padfoot?" Padfoot's wand was out and Harry hesitated before drawing his own and moving to stand beside his godfather.

"Hello, Harry," Lily said, holding a hand out. Harry looked up at Padfoot, whose face was set, and lowered his wand a little. Her voice was gentle, almost nervous. "Hello, Sirius."

"It talks," Padfoot breathed, staring at the locket, which lay open behind them. Padfoot was deathly pale.

"Of course, Padfoot," James said, and Harry thought he had a very warm voice. He wondered if that's what they'd actually sounded like. "And we listen too. We know your heart, your thoughts."

"We know everything," Lily said, smiling at Harry. "Come here, sweetheart." Harry took a tentative step toward his mother, but Padfoot's hand clamped down on his shoulder. A very ugly expression appeared on her pretty face. "Give me my son, Sirius."

"No," Padfoot said.

"Padfoot," James said. "He's not yours." Padfoot's hand spasmed on Harry's shoulder. "Give him to us. You know we're better parents than you could ever be."

"He's not your son," Lily said coolly, and her eyes flashed red. Padfoot flinched.

"I don't know what we were thinking, making you godfather," James added. "You're not fit to care for my son. You're a fugitive. A criminal. What sort of life is that for a child? He doesn't know any other children, there's just you and Remus and that mad elf of yours."

"Do you think he's actually happy?" Lily asked. Padfoot's hand tightened on Harry's shoulder, and his wand dangled uselessly at his side.

"He does!" James laughed, but it was a horrible sound; nothing like the laugh Harry had imagined. "I can't believe how stupid you are!"

"Shut up!" Harry said.

"He should have stayed with Petunia," James told Padfoot.

"He wanted to stay," Lily said. "But how was he supposed to say no? You didn't give him a choice, did you, Sirius-"

"I chose Padfoot," Harry said firmly, and both Lily and James gave him disappointed looks.

"We're here now," Lily said. "Don't you want parents, Harry? A family? We can give you that. You won't have to hide anymore. You'll be safe."

"No more risks," James added, looking every inch the concerned father.

"The risk's what makes it fun," Padfoot whispered.

"Fun?" Lily said shrilly, while James looked horrified. "Siriu-"

"_Bombarda Maxima_," Padfoot said, his voice surprisingly strong. The couch exploded and Harry covered his eyes. Lily and James screamed and so did another voice; this one was higher pitched and made Harry's scar feel like it was on fire. The rest of him was fine, though; Padfoot was shielding him.

A moment later, the screaming had stopped and Padfoot put a hand on Harry's shoulder. Harry looked up. Padfoot was pale and looked scared – which unnerved Harry – but mostly unharmed; the back of his robes were smoking, and his hem was on fire but he stepped on that to put it out, even as Harry watched.

"Are you okay?" Padfoot asked hoarsely. Harry nodded. Together, they turned to face the ruined room. There was a lot of soot and some burning fabric where the couch had been, but not much else. The explosion had blown the Black tapestry off the wall and shattered the glass in the cabinets. The pot of Floo powder on the mantel was burning a vivid green, and Harry's book was a singed mess. Padfoot bent to examine something golden on the ground.

"Is it dead?" Harry asked, stepping forward.

"_Reparo_," Padfoot murmured and then lifted up Regulus' wriggling snake. Harry's heart sank; if the snake had survived...

He kicked the ashes that remained of the couch and sure enough, the locket was there, glinting an evil gold. It was dented and the chain was melted in places, but it repaired itself as Harry watched.

"Padfoot," he said, nudging the locket with his foot. Padfoot looked over and swore at length. Harry learned several new words, but he doubted any of them were appropriate for him to use in any situation.

"Right," he said, dropping the snake, which slithered away. "Right. Kreacher!" Kreacher Apparated in and then looked taken aback at the mess.

"Kreacher is hearing the bang, oh yes," Kreacher said, "but Kreacher is not expecting... Kreacher hears noise all the time." Harry supposed that was true, especially since Padfoot had started trying to destroy the locket. "Are the Masters well?"

"Fine," Harry said, as Padfoot sighed.

"Is Master Sirius having an argument with the couch?" Kreacher asked tentatively.

"That," Padfoot said, jabbing a finger at the locket. Kreacher scowled. "We're going out. Fix this." Padfoot seemed to realise he was being blunt and then added, "Please, Kreacher." Kreacher patted his elbow, bowed at them both and set to work.

Harry had so many questions he wanted to ask; was Padfoot okay – not physically, but mentally – why had Lily and James thought Harry wasn't happy living with Padfoot, and why had they questioned Padfoot's parenting skills? Why had Padfoot attacked when he did, after waiting for so long? And, the one he was dying to ask: was that what they'd really sounded like?

All he said however was, "Where are we going?"

"To see Keira," Padfoot said, scooping up the locket with a look of revulsion.

"Now?" Harry asked. "It's eight-thirty-"

"Knockturn Alley doesn't close until late," Padfoot said. "Come on." Harry didn't miss the way his voice had started to quiver. Harry hugged him and then thought, _Ostendere me omnia_, and Apparated upstairs to get his cloak and trainers.

* * *

_Is that...?_ It was.

It was her jumper – the one she and Remus had turned into the silver ring at the camp two months ago – and it was currently stretched over Greyback's wide shoulders. He was sitting at a muggle bus stop, watching her.

He'd been after her since Remus left the camp. She and Mad-Eye had been following him – she'd been careful to keep her distance – but about a week ago, he'd started to show up in unexpected places, when she was off-duty. And he only seemed to show up when she was alone, and it was starting to worry her.

He saw her looking and waved. Tonks pretended not to see him and walked back inside, hoping that Remus hadn't left yet; they'd just had dinner and she'd given him an update on the search (it was still disappointingly quiet).

Remus had left; their table was empty and he wasn't talking with Tom the barman. She'd been planning to walk home before she went to the Ministry – she still had half an hour until training started at nine-thirty - but there was no way she was going to try that with Greyback lurking outside. She tried to contact Mad-Eye with her Sidekick, but he didn't respond. That wasn't uncommon; he did it to annoy Scrimgeour.

She wouldn't be able to Apparate – there were Anti-Apparition spells on the pub to stop people leaving before they paid – and so she decided she'd have to Floo. When she approached the fireplace, however, the pot of powder wasn't there, and the small fire that usually burned had been doused.

"Floo's closed," Tom said as he shuffled past her, holding a tray of butterbeer.

"Closed?" she asked, tripping over her own feet as she followed him. "Why?" Tom shrugged. Tonks bit her lip and glanced at the pub door. Then she shook her head and left through the back door; she'd Apparate from Diagon Alley. The courtyard was packed, which she thought was unusual; it was nine o'clock on a Wednesday night.

"What's going on?" she asked a witch.

"I don't know," the witch replied, tossing her blond curls. "It'd better be good, though – they made me leave before I could pay Madam Malkin-"

"They?"

"Aurors," the witch said, looking put out. "Come on, Rob," she said, grabbing a man's sleeve.

"Aurors?" Tonks muttered, and grew a few inches. The brick wall that led to Diagon Alley was open and through it, lines of Aurors were talking to people as they left.

"Everyone out!" a witch in maroon robes bellowed, shoving through the crowd. "Go home. You can come back tomorrow-"

"Auror McDuff!" Tonks called, but the witch didn't hear her and she was forced back into the pub with everyone else. A crowd was gathered around the fireplace, complaining loudly that it was closed, and an even larger crowd was moving through the doors. Tonks knew a chance when she saw it; she squeezed into the centre of the crowd and Disapparated - thinking of the Ministry entrance because there wasn't much point in her going home now - the moment she was outside.

She hurried straight into the telephone box as soon as she steadied; she doubted Greyback could have followed her but she didn't want to take any risks. She punched in the Auror code and relaxed once the telephone box was underground.

"Wand, please," the witch on wand-checking duty said through a yawn. Tonks hesitated; she knew Greyback wasn't around but she still wasn't keen on relinquishing her wand. "Wand, please," the witch repeated impatiently.

"Don't bother," a voice called. McKinnon and Florence were walking toward her.

"_Wand,_ _please_," the witch said, looking annoyed.

"She's not going through," McKinnon snapped and the witch gave her an angry look. McKinnon ignored it.

"I'm not?" Tonks asked.

"Training's cancelled," Florence said. "Merlin knows why, but the entire floor's empty."

"Was it something to do with Diagon Alley?" Tonks asked.

"Diagon Alley? Florence asked, looking worried. "Why?"

"I was just at the Leaky Cauldron and everyone was being sent home-"

"Auror Finch was investigating a shopkeeper in Knockturn Alley," Florence moaned. "It wasn't supposed to be dangerous; she was just going to walk around with a Dark Detector... Something must have gone wrong-" Auror Finch was about as unlucky as Tonks was clumsy; the day Tonks had gone to the camp, Auror Finch had needed to be rescued and had spent a week in St Mungo's recovering from a nasty curse.

"If the level's empty, she's obviously not dealing with the problem alone," McKinnon pointed out.

"Obviously, McKinnon, but if the level's empty, it's got to be something pretty bad," Florence shot back. "I'm going to get Melvin. I'll see you two later." She ran toward one of the fireplaces, shouted Melvin's address and vanished. Tonks and McKinnon exchanged a look.

"If they need us," McKinnon said, "then they'll contact us." She tossed her Sidekick up and caught it. "But otherwise, it's an early night." Tonks laughed nervously and McKinnon gave her an odd look. She strode toward the fireplace and then glanced back. "Are you coming?"

"I might stay here," Tonks said.

"Why? McKinnon asked, puzzled.

"Just..." Tonks waved her hand at the atrium. "It's safe here."

"Safe?"

"Yeah," Tonks said. "I'm going to wait for Mad-Eye." She'd sleep at his house tonight, which she was sure would be fine, but she didn't want to invite herself in, only to be attacked by him when he arrived home later. It was easier to wait.

McKinnon watched her for a long moment and then something behind Tonks moved. She jumped, wand up, and turned to face it. It was just a poster on the wall which had come loose. She turned back around in time to see McKinnon holding her wand thoughtfully.

"You did that?" Tonks asked weakly, not sure whether to be relieved or angry; she'd thought before that McKinnon sensed weakness like a Niffler sensed treasure.

"Who's following you?" McKinnon asked.

"Who says-"

"You're jumpy," McKinnon said. "Which means you either saw or heard something that's got you scared, or it means that someone's following you. And, since you think it's safe here, it means there's something out there that you're not keen to be exposed to, and the fact that you're not going home probably means that you want to keep your family safe. That indicates a physical danger, rather than danger because of something you know." Tonks sighed. "So who is it?"

Tonks looked around and almost missed the figure standing in the visitor's entry telephone box. She didn't know how long he'd been there, but she didn't think it mattered. Somehow, he'd followed her.

"Oh my Merlin," she whispered, her voice cracking.

"Who's that?" McKinnon asked sharply, lifting her wand. The door of the telephone box opened and something silver flew through the air toward them. McKinnon caught it and paled. Tonks craned her neck to see; it was one of the visitor's badges and where the name should have been it said _Im Watching._ Where the purpose of the visit usually was it said, _Lookout_. She had no doubt it was supposed to say 'I'm watching' and 'look out', but the badge-making magic had obviously changed it slightly. Even so, the message was pretty clear.

She looked up again, but the telephone box was empty.

"Tonks?" McKinnon said.

"Have you heard of Fenrir Greyback?" Tonks asked shakily.

* * *

"Don't lose that," Sirius said warningly, as Keira showed them out of the shop. The locket was clutched tightly in her green hand and Sirius hoped that it would be destroyed by tomorrow morning. "And be careful," he added.

"I can handle a piece of jewellery," she said, lifting her chin. She knew what the locket was now – he'd given in and he and Harry had explained the concept of Horcruxes – and so she knew it was more than just a necklace. He wondered if the understatement was her idea of a joke.

Harry looked puzzled too, but all he said was, "Thanks, Keira." Keira gave them both a wide smile and closed the door.

It was still outside Walpole's; there were no other shoppers and most of the shops appeared to be closed, despite it only being a bit after nine.

"Ready to go?" he asked. Harry – who looked like a middle-aged man – nodded. Sirius offered his arm and Harry took it, and then he twisted on the spot, thinking of Grimmauld's doorstep. They didn't move, though; all that happened was that Sirius did a stupid little pirouette and Harry fell over.

"Why didn't it work?" Harry asked, accepting Sirius' hand up.

"Dunno," Sirius replied.

"_Ostendere me omnia," _Harry muttered, and his eyes widened behind his glasses.

"Is it warded?" Sirius asked, frowning; they'd Apparated in with no trouble only about half an hour ago. Harry nodded, looking stunned. "_Ostendere me omnia_," Sirius said quietly. He'd never tried the spell before, but he'd helped Harry learn how to do it. Light flared before his eyes and when he looked up, there was a quivering rainbow net in the sky that extended as far as he could see. "Wow," he said and then looked at Harry, who was a mass of red and gold sparks. Interestingly, his magic was smaller than his current body; it looked like it would fit perfectly into Harry's usual height and build, though. Sirius himself was red- but he'd think about all that later. "Is it always like this?"

"No," Harry said, looking troubled.

"Can you get through?"

"No," Harry said. "There are too many layers. Every time one bit moves, another fills it... Do you think-"

"-it's for us?" Sirius finished. _Finite_, he added, because it was starting to hurt his eyes. "I'd like to say no."

"But you can't, can you?" Harry asked, taking a step closer to him.

"No, I can't," Sirius agreed. Harry shivered.

"So what do we do?"

* * *

"Thanks again," Tonks said miserably, following McKinnon out of the Three Broomsticks. McKinnon hadn't thought it was safe for her to stay at the Ministry and had offered to let her stay at her house until Mad-Eye could come up with a better idea.

"No problem," McKinnon replied, brushing soot off her robes. "Hopefully this throws him off a bit."

"Hopefully," Tonks agreed, but if Greyback had tracked her to the Ministry, then he'd probably be able to find her at McKinnon's. McKinnon offered Tonks her arm and spun on the spot. Tonks was being squeezed - Side-Along was infinitely worse than normal Apparition - and then the pressure stopped.

Tonks fell over, though McKinnon managed to keep her footing. They were in a small park – muggle by the looks of it – surrounded by terrace houses.

"Is this where you live?" Tonks asked, looking around. Ben, Melvin and Florence had all visited before but Tonks had been running errands for Malfoy as Tock and hadn't been able to make it.

"Number Thirteen," McKinnon said, gesturing for Tonks to follow. She led her out of the park, across the road and unlocked a plain door with a tap of her wand. There were a few people around but none of them were big enough to be Greyback. They both went inside and then McKinnon locked the door, which made Tonks relax a bit.

The hallway was narrow but bright. It had white walls and pale wooden floorboards and a faded Gryffindor banner dangled beside a door on the right. It was also very clean.

"You can have the guest room there-" McKinnon said, waving her hand at the door beside the banner. "-or the one upstairs."

"Upstairs is further from the door," Tonks said with a joking smile, but she was serious. "Do you mind if I take my rucksack up?"

"Go ahead," McKinnon said. "I'm going to make dinner. Do you-"

The doorbell rang loudly and Tonks' heart froze. She exchanged a horrified look with McKinnon, who was frowning.

"Please tell me you were expecting someone," Tonks squeaked.

"No," McKinnon said, stepping forward.

"What are you doing?!" Tonks hissed, pulling her wand out.

"Answering the door," McKinnon said, lifting her own wand. The doorbell rang again. "Stand somewhere out of sight." Tonks ducked into the guest room and half-closed the door. She peeked out through the gap, wand ready, just in case. McKinnon opened the door, wand first.

"Lupin," McKinnon said, dropping her wand. Relief hit Tonks like a bludger.

"Are you expecting someone else?" Remus asked mildly.

"Yes, actually," McKinnon said briskly. "I'm glad it's you instead. Would you like to come in?"

"That's probably best," he said. "Where's Dora?"

"Here," Tonks said, stepping out of the guest room. Remus smiled at her, but his eyes were worried.

"You two know each other?" McKinnon asked, locking the door.

"Yeah," Tonks said. "What are you doing here? I thought you were going home-"

"I was doing my own little patrol," he admitted, and Tonks's insides gave a guilty squirm. "Sirius lived next door when he was growing up and I thought maybe... I don't know what I thought. No one was there except for Kreacher."

"Who's-"

"The house elf," McKinnon sighed.

"It was stupid," Remus mumbled. "I'd deluded myself into thinking they'd be there, but they're not... As I was leaving, though, I saw the pair of you scurrying inside and it worried me, so I thought I'd come and see if there was anything I could do to help."

"You're welcome to stay," McKinnon said. "You're probably going to be more useful than I am if Greyback does show up. You've got experience handling him."

"Lucky me," Remus muttered. McKinnon laughed, and Tonks stared; McKinnon didn't laugh very often. "So it is Greyback?" he asked, looking at Tonks.

"He followed me to the Ministry," Tonks said. "I didn't want to go home, so McKinnon offered to let me stay here."

"He followed you to the Ministry?" Remus repeated, looking aghast.

"He was wearing my jumper," Tonks added, and Remus seemed revolted, but not surprised. She wasn't either, really; Greyback had worn the ring for days, apparently.

"And he left her this." McKinnon tried to give him the badge but he didn't take it.

"It's silver," Remus said. McKinnon snatched the badge back.

"I forgot, Lupin, I'm so-"

"You know?" Tonks asked; Remus and McKinnon didn't seem awfully close and Remus wasn't the type to tell everyone about his condition.

"_You _know?" McKinnon asked, looking as surprised as Tonks. Her eyes flicked between them. "How exactly do you two know each other?" Remus and Tonks shared a look, but were saved from trying to explain anything by McKinnon jumping and pulling out her Sidekick. "May I-?"

"Go ahead," Remus said, while Tonks nodded. McKinnon disappeared down the hallway. "Does Mad-Eye know about the Ministry?"

"I haven't been able to reach him."

"Oh." Remus looked troubled.

"Will you stay tonight?" Tonks blurted. "Please?" she added in a smaller voice. "McKinnon said it's all right."

"Sure," he said after a moment. "Also, I think it's best if Matt introduced us." Tonks nodded.

"I've got to go," McKinnon said, reappearing.

"What's happened?" Tonks asked.

"Gawain's called me in," she said. "That's all I can say at the moment, but you'll know about it soon enough, I think. You're both welcome to stay here – I don't know when I'll be back but there's food downstairs. I'll tell Mad-Eye what's going on if I see him. Look after her," she told Remus.

"We'll go back to mine," Remus said. He was very pale, Tonks noticed, and she wondered if he was scared, or if it was something else. Tonk was relieved that he'd offered that, though; she wouldn't have felt right about staying in McKinnon's house while McKinnon was out.

"I'll let them know," McKinnon promised. "I'm sorry to run out like this- if it was _anything_ else- I'll come by to check on you tomorrow, all right?"

"Be careful!" Tonks called, as McKinnon hurried out the front door. There was a pop and she was gone. "Are you okay?" Tonks asked, looking at Remus. He didn't look well at all.

"Fine," he said, sounding a bit off.

"What do you think she's needed for?" Tonks asked. It must be important, whatever it was, or McKinnon would have stayed with her. Maybe Finch was in a lot of trouble in Diagon Alley. Tonks shut the door again, and had a quick look outside. Thankfully, she couldn't see anyone out there. Maybe she'd managed to shake Greyback for the night.

"I'm not sure," he said, but she didn't quite believe him. In fact, he seemed to be arguing with himself. "Is that all you've got with you?" he asked, after several long seconds. Tonks nodded and fiddled with the strap of her rucksack. Remus smiled. It was genuine, but she thought it was a struggle for him to keep it there. Something about McKinnon's exit had rattled him. "Let's get you home then."

* * *

Padfoot knocked on the window of Walpole's, while Harry kept watch. Keira's pale face appeared and a moment later the door opened.

"It isn't morning yet," Keira said, frowning at them. Padfoot slipped past her into the shop, and Harry followed. Keira looked puzzled but had the sense to close the door. "Yes?"

"We think the Aurors are here for us." Keira's eyebrows disappeared into her dark hair. "I need parchment, a quill and your most recent copy of _Wizarding Law_," Padfoot said.

"_Wizarding Law_?" Harry asked, but Padfoot shook his head. Keira drifted away and returned a moment later with everything Padfoot had asked for. Padfoot began to write.

"Are you happy living with me, Harry?" he asked a few minutes later.

"Is this because of the locket-"

"Are you happy? The truth."

"I'm happy," Harry said, a little scared. Padfoot folded the letter and tucked it into the book. Then he scribbled something else onto another piece of parchment and gave that and the book to Keira.

"Could you send the book to the first address on there?" he asked. "Do it in the morning, and only once you've had it confirmed that we've been caught. Please don't let it be intercepted. Keep the locket safe. If I'm Kissed, or sent back to Azkaban, send it to the second address. He'll know what it is." Keira nodded and placed a hand on Padfoot's shoulder and he offered her a small, nervous smile. Then, she hugged Harry and disappeared into the back room.

"I don't- why are you writing letters?" Harry asked. "Shouldn't we be trying to escape?" Padfoot gave him a look that Harry didn't know how to interpret; it was nervous, worried and excited all at once.

"We're not running this time, kiddo."

* * *

"All settled?" Remus asked leaning in the doorway of his guest room.

"Yeah," Tonks said, playing with the sleeve of the pyjamas he'd leant her. "Thanks."

"Good night," he said. His smile strained – she thought he was worried – but it drew an answering smile out of her anyway. Then he pulled the door closed and she heard his footsteps retreat up the hallway. The room seemed empty without him there, and her worry about Greyback, about Auror Finch, about McKinnon and about Mad-Eye, who still wasn't answering his Sidekick came creeping back. She pulled the covers up and settled into her pillow, though she doubted she'd sleep well tonight.

* * *

"Stop where you are, Black!"

Sirius stopped and lifted his hands up slowly to show he wasn't holding his wand. Beside him, Harry had gone very still.

_Please don't let this be a mistake_, he thought. _Please, please, please..._

It seemed the entirety of the D.M.L.E. had come to see them. It was ridiculous, but reassuring; he'd been right not to consider trying to fight his way out. Once he might have - it probably would have seemed like a grand adventure - but he wasn't about to risk Harry's safety and he'd grown up and gained enough sense to realise it would probably end with him being killed or captured. Since he'd rather be captured than die, and capture seemed inevitable, it was best to be caught on his own terms.

And, while he was never going to walk into the Ministry and hand himself in, he wasn't about to run away from a situation like this one. Marlene's had been different; she'd have killed him if he'd stayed, Remus had been involved, and Harry hadn't been with them, all of which would have made things hard.

This, though, was almost too easy. He could go quietly, and get a trial...

The locket was a nasty piece of work, but it had been right about Harry deserving more than to be cooped up in Grimmauld. The Ministry would be too curious about Sirius' escape and how he'd managed to hide from them this long to kill him or have him Kissed. That meant he'd get a chance to talk - something he hadn't been given eight years ago - and he still remembered enough about wizarding law from his Auror days to ensure he was listened to. Being listened to didn't necessarily mean that things would work out, though...

_Please, please, please, please be the right thing to do. Please, please-_

"Step away from the boy, Black!" Harry's eyes met his.

"It'll be all right, kiddo," he said. Harry nodded, though it was obvious he didn't believe it.

"Black! Step away from the boy!"

"You ready?" Sirius asked.

"Not really," Harry said, attempting to smile.

"Do you remember what I told you?"

"Yeah," Harry said. He hesitated and then said, "Love you, Padfoot."

"Love you too, kiddo," Sirius said. His throat was absurdly tight. Harry gave him a small, grim smile and Sirius clapped him on the shoulder. Then, Harry turned and walked toward the Aurors. He did it slowly; he had the sense not to run at them and a few feet before he reached them, he stopped and pulled their wands out of his pocket. The Aurors all flinched but Harry turned them around and offered them to the closest Auror. Sirius recognised Lyra Finch, who'd gone through the Program at the same time as him and James.

"Thank you," she said cautiously. She took them, and then several Aurors converged on Harry, blocking him from Sirius' view.

"We've got him!" someone shouted, and then there was a pop of Disapparition. Sirius felt quite alone all of a sudden, despite the many Aurors surrounding him.

No one seemed to know what to do with him. They were all staring as if he was something that had crawled out of the Forbidden Forest; they were equally fascinated and terrified. Sirius could have said several witty or rude things, but he decided to wait.

"_Petrificuls Totalus! Incarcerous!" _

Sirius fell with a grunt and landed hard on his side. The Aurors were murmuring amongst each other but no one had moved to approach him.

_Please, please don't be a mistake-_

"One move, Sirius, and I'll kill you on the spot," a fierce voice said in his ear as he was hauled into a sitting position. "_Finite_." The Body-Bind came off, allowing him to sit more comfortably.

"I don't doubt it," he said.

Marlene made a sound that might have been a laugh.

_Please, please, please._

* * *

Tonks sighed and rolled over, grabbing her wand off the bedside table.

"_Tempus,_" she said, and a ghostly clock flickered into existence. It was just after midnight, and had only been ten minutes since she'd last cast the charm. "Damn it," she muttered, and flicked her wand again to make the clock go away. She hadn't managed to get to sleep yet, and it was driving her mad.

She took out some of her frustration on her pillow – by punching it – and then rolled onto her back with a huff. The door opened slowly and a figure poked its head in. Tonks clenched her fingers around her wand.

"Remus?" She lit her wand and Remus' guilty face came into focus.

"I didn't know if you were a restless sleeper or if you were awake," he said sheepishly.

"I'm awake."

"Can't sleep?" he asked, coming in to sit on the end of the bed. She shook her head. "Neither can I." They sat in a tired, worried silence for a few seconds and then Remus stood. "I'm going to make a cup of tea. Would you like one?"

"Yes, please," she said, tossing back the covers.

She followed him out into the dark sitting room. He seemed to know his way around without a light, while Tonks managed to trip over an armchair even with her wand. Remus chuckled and lit the stove with matches, which she thought was strange but didn't comment on. Tonks dropped into a seat at the table, yawning – she felt tired now, but she knew she'd be wide awake the second she climbed back into bed.

The kettle's bubbling grew louder and louder and Remus fetched tealeaves and cups. Tonks drummed her fingers on the table.

"Thanks," she said as a steaming cup was set down in front of her.

"No problem."

Remus sat and didn't attempt to make conversation - he seemed wrapped up in his own thoughts – but that didn't bother Tonks. She thought they were probably thinking the same things anyway, so what was the point of talking? She sipped at her tea.

She was getting tired; the tea was warming her from the inside, and it was late and the chair was comfortable and Remus was there keeping her safe and keeping her sane. She put the cup down before she could drop it and her eyes started to drift shut. Remus said something in a quiet voice but she didn't really hear him. A moment later, she started so violently that she knocked her teacup over. If Remus had been pale before, then he was positively ghostly now. He didn't even seem to have noticed the tea dripping onto the floor.

"Did you hear it too?" he breathed. Tonks barely heard him over her pounding heart; something had made a popping sound outside and at this hour of the night, when Remus' cottage was as isolated as it was, it could only be Greyback.


	43. Marlene's Revenge

"He's still not answering," Dora said, dropping her Sidekick into her lap. "Do you think it's bad, whatever's going on down there?"

"I don't know," Remus said, but he was fairly sure he did; he hadn't been lying when he'd told Marlene and Dora that Grimmauld had been empty except for Kreacher. He also knew that Marlene wasn't one to run out on a commitment - like looking after Dora – unless there was a very good reason. And, from what Remus knew of Marlene, that reason could only be Sirius.

He didn't know where Sirius was, or if Harry was with him, and he didn't know whether he'd managed to escape or if he'd been caught. Worse was that there was nothing Remus could do for him – or them, if Harry was with Sirius. As if their potential predicament wasn't bad enough, there was also the fact that Greyback was after Dora. Unlike Sirius and Harry, Remus had been able to do something about that. She seemed comforted by having him around and Remus felt better because he knew where she was and that she was safe.

Or sort of safe; after hearing Greyback Apparate into the garden, they'd moved to the couch and stayed there all night, both too worried to sleep, but so far, Greyback hadn't approached the house.

Greyback had spent the night in Remus' garden and it hadn't escaped Remus' notice that he'd chosen to sit in the exact spot where he'd bitten Remus all those years ago. Dora had wanted to leave as soon as Greyback arrived, but Remus had talked her out of it; if they Flooed, one of them would be alone in the house for a few seconds, and that could be fatal. Greyback would also hear the address they were going to, and be able to follow them. If they Apparated, he'd just find them again – he'd found them so far, though Remus couldn't work out how – and they really didn't have anywhere else to go.

_And Marlene said she'd come by to check on us, _Remus added mentally. Hopefully she'd bring others with her and they could... catch Greyback? Take Dora – and Remus, because he was involved now too - to a safe house? He didn't know.

There was a tap at the window and Dora yelped. It was only Strix though, bringing the _Prophet. _Remus flicked his wand at the window which opened long enough for Strix to get in and then slammed shut and locked.Strix dropped the paper in Remus' lap and alighted on the arm of the couch beside Dora for a pat. She stroked his feathers absently, and then stood.

"Where are you going?" Remus asked.

"I'm going to get a book," she said through a yawn. "Will you be okay?"

Remus nodded. She left and he unfolded the paper. His heart stopped. _SIRIUS TROUBLE FOR BLACK_, was the headline and took up most of the front page. Remus lurched to his feet with the paper scrunched up in his fist, and went to the sink to splash water on his face. He looked at the paper again but the headline still hadn't changed.

_Guess it's true then, _he thought and collapsed into a chair at the table. His hands were trembling as he spread the paper out to read.

_Sirius Black was caught by Aurors in Diagon Alley last night, putting an end to his fourteen months on the run from Ministry officials. Black was taken into the Ministry's custody and is being kept in a secure but unknown location. Harry Potter was also found and taken to a safe location that has not been named for his safety._

_Black was spotted by one of the Ministry's Aurors in Knockturn Alley, quite by chance. The evil magic radiating off him was enough to trigger a Dark Detector held by said Auror, and once Black was otherwise engaged, she called in her co-workers to secure the alley. When Black and Potter made their way back to the main street, his evil had been masked, but he was still, thankfully recognisable. Aurors are investigating the shop in question to determine whether concealment charms were used to hide Black's evil-_

Remus couldn't read any more. He dropped the paper like it was some sort of slimy, poisonous bug and went to splash more water on his face.

He wiped his eyes and then swore, jumped and stumbled backward; standing on the other side of the kitchen window was Greyback. He was smiling in a way that showed all of his teeth and promised pain, and his eyes were so bright they were almost feverish.

Remus stood very still, gasping. Greyback just watched him.

"Remus?" Dora was back, holding _Human Chameleon. _"What are you looking at?"

"He was-" Greyback was gone, but obviously still around somewhere; Remus hadn't heard him Apparate. "Greyback was there-" Remus said through numb lips. "Outside the window." Dora whipped out her wand and looked around nervously as if she expected Greyback to jump out from behind a couch. It honestly wouldn't have surprised Remus at this point.

_This is getting ridiculous_, he thought, shivering. They were safe inside the house for the moment, but Greyback was getting braver. He'd be happy to toy around with them for a bit but Remus knew he'd get bored. Once that happened, it was only a matter of time before he reversed one of the charms on the windows or doors, or Apparated inside. Or maybe he'd just blow a hole in the side of the cottage and come in that way.

And when that happened, things would get ugly. Greyback wasn't going to want to negotiate. It would be a fight – magical or physical, depending on how he was feeling. Maybe it would even be a combination. Remus had saved Greyback several times over the years by refusing to hand him over to the Aurors or Dumbledore. He didn't like it, and it wasn't for any reason other than to protect the people living at the camps, but he'd done it.

Now though, with him and Dora being threatened, and Greyback's presence preventing Remus from finding Sirius and Harry, Remus was sorely tempted to do whatever it took to get rid of him. And, with things in their current state, Remus could only imagine that would involve Greyback dying or being captured.

_It'll have to be captured, _Remus thought grimly; Greyback's death would create more problems than it would solve. Even his capture would threaten everyone at the camp. _Though there could be a way around that..._

The next hour was spent in silence broken only by the sound of Dora's Sidekick semi-closing and opening – it was a nervous habit she seemed to have developed overnight, though it was a sensible one, since it kept it within reach – and of pages turning; both Dora and Remus were immersed in their respective books, though not as deeply immersed as they might have been. Remus was keeping an ear out for Greyback and regularly checked the doors, windows and corners of the room, just in case.

"Remus," Dora said, as he turned a page.

"Hmm?"

"Is he still out there?" Remus stood and peeked out the window.

"Yes." He'd returned to the place under the tree and was staring intently at the house.

"Where?"

"Just under the tree," Remus said, giving her an odd look. Her eyes flicked down to her Sidekick, which was open in her lap. Remus quirked an eyebrow and she nodded. Remus could have cried with relief. "At the bottom of my garden, where he's been all night," Remus added, and could only just hear whispering through the Sidekick.

"Do you think he has his wand?" Dora asked. _That's good. Give them as much information as possible without tipping Greyback off._

"Probably," Remus said. "He Apparated in, didn't he?"

"Yeah, I s'pose. Do you think we're safe in here?"

"For now. When he decides he wants to come in, that's when we'll have a problem, and frankly, I'm amazed he's waited this long."

"Do you think the Aurors are coming, Remus?" Dora asked in a very small, obviously distressed voice. She was putting it on; her scent was actually rather calm, but Remus was sure Greyback would be thrilled to think he was getting to her.

"I don't know," he said, trying to sound miserable. "Even if they do, his senses are so good they'd have no chance of catching him." Remus didn't think that was true; if they could catch Sirius, they could catch Greyback. It was more that he needed to convey the message about his senses, as a warning.

"Get him into the house." Mad-Eye's voice was so low that Remus could hardly hear it. Dora didn't seem to have heard it at all. Mad-Eye added something else that was too quiet even for Remus, but he couldn't very well ask Mad-Eye to repeat it or Greyback would overhear him asking. Remus mumbled a made-up word.

"What?" Dora asked. Remus smiled.

"Send a message once he's inside and we'll Apparate in and trap him," Mad-Eye said.

"I said we'll sort something out," Remus said. He used his wand to write, _Mad-Eye says to lure him inside, send a message with your Sidekick and then presumably keep him distracted long enough for them to trap him. _Dora nodded, eyes wide and Remus flicked his wand. The letters dissolved into the air. "Hopefully," he said, to keep their fake conversation going. They fell silent and then Remus thought of something. "Why don't you have a shower or something?"

"A-" Dora lifted an eyebrow and he gave her a beseeching look. She nodded slowly. "That sounds wonderful, actually. Will you-"

"I'll be fine," he said. She stood, holding her Sidekick and crossed the room. Her hair grew up to expose the back of her neck and then, as if someone was standing behind her with a quill and James' old invisibility cloak – Remus wondered absently what had happened to that – the words _Be careful_ appeared. Then she lightened her skin again and vanished into the hall.

Remus waited until he heard water running and then he stood and waved his wand at the front door, which popped open. Greyback was waiting on the doorstep.

"About time," he said, leering at Remus. Remus held his wand up; it was a warning, but not threatening. Greyback's wand was in his fist as his side, but his knuckles were white. "I must say, I expected you to invite me in earlier." Remus was disconcerted that Greyback had known what he would do before he himself had known, and it must have shown on his face or in his scent, because Greyback wheezed a laugh.

"I'm going to put my wand on the kitchen table," Remus said. "Then you're going to do the same."

Greyback appeared to think about it, but it didn't take long. Greyback was a competent wizard but they both knew he'd have to be lucky to beat Remus in any magical challenge. They also both knew that Greyback would easily win any physical confrontation, and that Remus was therefore giving up any advantage he might have. Greyback turned his wand around and then passed it to Remus, who took it.

"Is that smart?" Remus asked, stepping backward, just in case Greyback decided he wanted it back.

"You're too honourable to attack me without provocation," Greyback said.

"Am I?" Remus asked, though he knew it was true. Greyback made himself at home on the couch he and Dora had just vacated while Remus put their wands on the kitchen bench; best to keep them as far from Greyback as possible, even if it did mean they'd be far away from Remus too. He deliberately knocked the kettle off the bench; if Dora hadn't realised Greyback was inside, hopefully she'd interpret the noise as a message.

"Take a seat," Greyback said, patting the couch beside him. Remus put the kettle away and opted for the armchair instead. "Now. Do you remember what I said about suspicious behaviour?" Remus gave him a stony look. "I'm a patient man, Lupin-" Remus snorted and Greyback's lip curled. "-but I've run out of patience. You're running around with Aurors now. Do you honestly think they can protect you?" There was a thump from the bathroom. "Or maybe you're protecting them."

"Maybe," Remus said.

"I'd say I'm sorry," Greyback said. "Except I'm not." Greyback pulled another wand out of his scruffy robes and Remus' breath caught. "I'm not going to kill you," Greyback cooed, getting up. He patted Remus' head – Remus leaned away, but wasn't about to make a run for it while Greyback had a wand in his face. "I'm just going to make sure you can't interfere." He leered at Remus again. "Pity you were too honourable to hold onto those wands, huh?"

"Go on, then," Remus said. "Stun me." He figured Mad-Eye couldn't be far away. He trusted Greyback not to kill him – Greyback wouldn't have bothered lying about that – and Dora had her wand and her Sidekick, so she'd be safe until Mad-Eye arrived. Even if Greyback Disarmed her – which Remus didn't want to think about – he'd want to talk to her before he did any serious damage.

"Stun you?" Greyback laughed. "No, son. You're going to listen. You're going to hear her die and know it's your fault. You're-"

Several things happened at once: the water in the bathroom stopped, the Aurors Apparated around the house in perfect synchronisation – all Remus heard was one loud, almost echoing pop – and Remus snatched the wand out of Greyback's hand. It never would have worked if Greyback wasn't distracted by all the noises. Greyback let out a howl of fury and threw himself at Remus, who managed to get the wand up in time.

"_Protego!"_ Greyback hit the Shield Charm and bounced off. He crashed into the coffee table, which broke and then launched himself back to his feet and stood, chest heaving, eyes wild, and teeth bared. Strix hooted uneasily.

_If looks could kill, _Remus thought, holding the wand steady. The bathroom door clicked and a floorboard creaked. Remus' head snapped in that direction and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Greyback lunge. He turned back but he was too slow-

"_Stupefy!"_ Dora cried, appearing in the doorway. Greyback dropped where he stood and a moment later, Remus' front door burst off its hinges and Mad-Eye barged in, followed by six others.

"_Incarcerous_," he barked, without breaking stride, and ropes twined themselves around Greyback's still form. Remus flopped back into his armchair. Dora sat down where she was, in the hall doorway, with a sound that was a cross between a laugh and a sob. Mad-Eye ordered the other Aurors out again – one kindly fixed the door on the way, while two stopped to lift Greyback – and went over to Dora.

Remus glanced over to make sure he and Dora were distracted and then he lifted Greyback's wand and whispered the incantation he'd found that afternoon. Greyback sagged even more, if that was possible, and Remus knew it had worked; Greyback would have no recollection of Remus' role in his capture - he'd think that he'd been caught outside Marlene's house in London (since Greyback must have made it there at some point, or he wouldn't have known that Remus was involved and to visit the cottage) – and that Remus had been called by the Aurors because he knew Greyback.

Greyback would remember Remus offering to remove the pack's location from his mind and would remember accepting the offer – Remus had actually removed that information so the Aurors wouldn't be able to find the camp. Not only did that protect the camp – which had been Remus' biggest qualm with having Greyback arrested – but it also left Remus on neutral terms with Greyback, which meant Remus would be able to return to the camp.

And, since Remus knew Voldemort would be back eventually – due to the Horcrux – it was crucial that Remus didn't _completely_ alienate himself from Greyback and the pack. He could make him mad, certainly - he did that regularly - but he didn't want to damage his already unstable relationship with Greyback beyond repair. Having him arrested would certainly do so.

"Are you hurt, Lupin?" Mad-Eye asked, limping over with Dora behind him.

"No, I'm fine," Remus said. Dora caught his eye. She didn't smile or speak, but she didn't need to. Remus understood, and he thought she understood him too. He went to retrieve his and Greyback's wands from the kitchen bench and caught another glimpse of the paper.

_Sirius and Harry. _He was ashamed to admit he hadn't spared them much thought in the last hour. He wondered if Mad-Eye would know what was going on, or if he'd have to go to Hogwarts to get the news from Dumbledore. _Maybe I could even stop by at Marlene's..._

"Who does that belong to?" Dora asked, frowning at the third wand in Remus' hand. Remus pocketed his own.

"These two were Greyback's."

"He had two?" Mad-Eye asked, looking troubled. He made a grabbing motion and Remus passed them over. Mad-Eye examined them and tucked them into his robes for safekeeping. "We should go; Scrimgeour will want to talk to the pair of you."

"I really think I should-" Mad-Eye fixed both his real and his magical eye on Remus.

"The Ministry's the place you want to be, lad," he said, giving Remus a very pointed look. "Trust me."

* * *

"My apologies, friends," Albus said, waving his wand.

"The nerve of people these days!" Phineas Nigellus' portrait exclaimed as a web of magic affixed itself to his portrait, and all of the others; they'd be able to talk to Albus, but they wouldn't be able to hear his responses and they wouldn't be able to see him either. A very old charm, cast long before Albus' Headship ensured they didn't discuss what they saw or heard in the office, but with the conversation he was about to have...

_It's better to be safe._

One of the silver trinkets on the table in the corner of Albus' office flashed a bright white. Fawkes looked over, curious, but he'd been living in the office too long to be startled by it.

"Come in!" he called. The door flung open and Severus stalked in.

"You wanted to see me, Dumbledore?" he asked, dropping into the chair on the other side of Albus' desk.

"I did," Albus replied. "I have a task for you, Severus."

"Wonderful," Severus said, looking as if he thought it was anything but wonderful. Albus couldn't really blame him; the last thing Albus had asked of him – aside from the usual requests like speaking politely to other staff members, and not terrorising students (particularly first years, Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs) – had been to give lessons to young Draco Malfoy. He didn't think Severus had forgiven him for that yet, which was a pity, particularly because of what he was about to ask.

"Have you seen the _Prophet_ today, Severus?" Albus asked, stalling.

"You know I rarely bother with that drivel," Severus sneered.

"I admit the stories can be rather lucrative, but they do have an excellent crossword-"

"What was in the paper?" Severus bit out.

"Sirius and Harry were caught last night." Severus paled. "The boy is safe," Albus said.

"And Black?" Severus asked, looking nervous. "Has he been Kissed?"

"Are you concerned, Severus?" Albus asked. "I'd have thought you of all people would welcome the news that the man responsible for Lily Potter's death has been apprehended." Severus gave him a glare that fell short because he still looked anxious. Albus wondered at that – he himself didn't much care about Sirius' welfare and Albus knew he was more forgiving than Severus had ever been. "No," he said finally. "Sirius is safe in Ministry custody." Severus snorted at that, though Albus couldn't be sure why.

"The task, Dumbledore?" Severus asked impatiently, after a pause.

"Ah," Albus said. "Yes. I've had a letter from Dolores Umbridge. She wants Harry out of the Ministry and into a suitable home by tomorrow night-"

"Absolutely not!" Severus snarled, leaping to his feet. "I am not taking the boy! He can go back to his aunt-"

"Sit down, Severus," Albus said, amused. "I would never ask you to adopt the boy – for your sake and for his." Severus hesitated and then sat down. "I _do_ intend to return Harry to Petunia and Vernon-"

"Then what am I here for?"

"I'll be spending the majority of my time at the Ministry until this custody mess is sorted," Albus sighed. "I wouldn't put it past Dolores to give the boy to the first wizarding family that showed an interest."

"Surely there are laws prohibiting-"

"There are if the child in question has parents or any other form of guardian. Currently, Harry Potter does not. Not legally," Albus amended, when Severus' mouth fell open. "Which means the Ministry is liable to do as they please, and Sirius is liable to point out that James and Lily's wishes were to have Harry live with him. Were either the Ministry or Sirius to gain _legal_ control over Harry..."

"So what are you going to do?" Severus asked, looking apprehensive. Albus produced a stack of documents from his desk drawer. "Forgery!? You're going to _forge-_"

"Petunia is a better guardian for the boy than anyone the Ministry will find-" Ideally, Albus would have given the boy to Remus – he thought they'd both like that – but the Ministry would never allow it. "-even if she did only take him out of duty and not love. No one can argue that a blood relative has no claim to him, and legal documents from the muggle world are respected in our world. I should have had her sign them years ago, when she first took the boy in, but with everything else going on... I never imagined anything like this could come to pass..."

"Is that really the best place for the brat?"

"He will be safe," Albus said grimly. Last year had been an eye opener for him about Harry's childhood; the boy hadn't seemed fond of his relatives, nor they of him. Albus had hoped to give Harry a happy childhood, and it seemed he'd failed, but he had succeeded in sheltering Harry from the wizarding world and his fame – until Sirius barged into their lives and ruined that – and in keeping him safe.

Now, Dumbledore knew better than to think that anything but safety awaited Harry at the Dursleys. He felt absolutely wretched that he would be forcing the boy back to a home where he had not been particularly happy and where familial love was buried so deeply that it rarely showed on the surface. It wasn't fair to the boy who'd lost so much and been through so much, but that and a weekly respite was the best Albus could offer him until he started Hogwarts.

"Safer than he would with a magical family?" Severus asked doubtfully. "He's been exposed-"

"He will stay with Remus on weekends – without the Ministry knowing, of course," Albus said. "And yes; once Voldemort returns, Harry will find no safer place than with his aunt and uncle, behind the wards."

"They were destroyed when Black-"

"They can be recast." Albus fully intended to do that, and he'd also cast one to keep Sirius out, though that probably wouldn't matter; now that the Ministry had him, Sirius was either going to be Kissed or locked away and so it was highly unlikely that he'd come after Harry ever again.

"I still fail to see where I come into this, Headmaster."

"Petunia will need the situation explained to her. She will be reluctant to take the boy back and we cannot afford to let the Ministry see that. She must fill these out-" Albus slid the forms over to Severus. "-and then you will both travel to this address." He passed Severus a business card belonging to a Squib solicitor who was a good friend of his. He'd be willing to help, Albus knew, and he'd keep quiet. "You will then join me at the Ministry to sort this mess out."

"You want _me_ to go?" Severus asked, flinging the card away. "You might be busy, but why me? Why not Minerva or your precious Lupin or even McKinnon-"

"Petunia knows you," Albus said; he'd anticipated this response.

"I'm the boy who stole her sister," Severus spat.

"She knows you," Albus repeated. "Petunia will be far more willing to accept this from a familiar face, and if nothing else, she will believe that you have Lily's son's best wishes at heart." Severus did _not_ look happy about things, but Albus hadn't expected him to. He was scowling fiercely, obviously thinking very hard. Albus popped a sweet into his mouth and sucked on it while he waited. One minute.

Two.

When Severus looked up, he looked so furious that Albus knew he'd agreed to do it. He gathered the papers into his arms without a word and made to leave.

"Thank you, my boy," Albus said, smiling at his back.

"I hope you choke on that lemon drop," Severus snarled, and left.

* * *

_Petunia,_

_If you don't want to read this now, please don't throw it away yet. There are some things you need to know._

_Harry and I have been captured by the Ministry. I don't know what's going to happen to me, but I can make guesses where Harry's concerned. There'll be a dispute over his custody, a dispute which Dumbledore's almost certainly going to drag you into. I know you hate our world, and so I'm apologising in advance for all of this._

_I know you don't want Harry and I know you don't think you owe either of us anything but I'm going to ask you to take him back anyway. Believe me when I say I wouldn't ask if I could think of a better solution. I promise I'll be back for him. If I get a trial, that'll be soon. If things don't go according to plan, it might be a bit longer. _

_The book has a chapter on how muggle laws and our world's laws relate. If you're going to take Harry back, reading it might not be a bad idea._

_Sirius Black._

Petunia had read it so many times that the parchment had gone soft. She'd received the owl this morning – Vernon, thankfully, had been at work and Dudley had been at school – and hadn't been able to make the awful creature leave without taking the parcel and note it had been carrying.

The note and the parcel – which, according to the note contained a book – had been taken straight to the cupboard under the stairs and hidden under the tiny bed that still lived there. She'd gone and cleaned the kitchen and then her curiosity had got the better of her and she'd gone back for the note.

Mostly, it troubled her. She knew Sirius Black had a bad reputation but since she knew he hadn't actually kidnapped the boy, she suspected most of his crimes were exaggerated. It seemed, the rest of the world hadn't worked that out, however – Petunia supposed they didn't have her ability to distinguish between lies and the truth – and so Sirius had been arrested, and Harry with him, which was unfortunate. She didn't care much for the boy, but she bore him no ill will, particularly since he was no longer hers to worry about.

_Except maybe now he is again._ Sirius' mention of custody was ridiculous; the boy should be his, _was_ his. He wanted him and Petunia didn't. It wasn't complicated and she was not at all looking forward to being dragged into the middle of their strange politics over something so ridiculous-

The doorbell rang and Petunia jumped. She placed the letter back in the cupboard under the stairs on her way to the door. She really didn't want to answer it. She had a horrible suspicion it would be Dumbledore or some other freak, come to take her to court.

_No manners, any of them, _she thought angrily. She pulled open the door and froze.

"Petunia," the Snape boy – man now – drawled. He'd traded his ugly, ill-fitting smock for a set of black robes, but his greasy hair, hooked nose and glittering black eyes were the same. He was holding a pile of paperwork.

"You," she managed.

"May I come in?" he asked, looking past her into the house. "I doubt you'd want the neighbours to see me on your doorstep." He gave her a nasty smile. "They might ask questions." Yes. The neighbours. Petunia shook herself.

"Come in, then," she snapped and Snape strode past her.

"Is there a place we might talk?"

"The sitting room," she said unwillingly. She couldn't be sure if she was glad Vernon wasn't around to see this, or if she wanted him there for support. Snape sat down and Petunia closed the blinds before sitting down across from him. "What do you want?" she asked, when he didn't say anything.

He smirked, as if she'd somehow proved him right, and said, "Sirius Black has been arrested."

"I suppose that's good news, is it?" she asked waspishly. "What are those?" Snape dropped the papers onto the coffee table and pushed them toward her. "Adoption papers," she said, frowning at him.

"The Ministry of Magic-"

"Don't say that word!"

"The _Ministry_," Snape said, and paused long enough for her mind to fill in the other two words, "are working – as we speak – to have Potter sent to live with a wiz- non-muggle family. Dumbledore is opposed to that, for reasons I'm certain you don't care much about."

"These are dated for November nine years ago," she said, looking at the forms.

"The Ministry wouldn't dare take Potter from his legal guardians, even if they are muggles."

"You're assuming I want the boy."

"I'm assuming you want the boy safe," Snape snapped. "Though that might be giving you more credit than you deserve." He let he comment hang and then said, "Fill those out, then we'll be off to Dumbledore's solicitor and off to the Ministry. You can have the br- boy home tonight."

"No," Petunia said, making a decision. It wasn't a decision about what she was going to do, but it was a decision that she needed more time to think about what she was going to do.

"No?" he asked incredulously.

"You heard me," she said crossly. "I happen to have made plans for today."

"Un-make them," he told her.

"No. I'm free tomorrow. You can come back then."

"This is your nephew-"

"I know what's at stake," she said. Snape glared at her for a long time and then sighed.

"I'll be back at nine o'clock tomorrow morning," he said flatly. "By that time, you will have filled those out and you will be ready to see the solicitor. Am I clear?"

"Nine thirty."

"I said _nine-"_

"I have to take Dudders-" Petunia cleared her throat. "-Dudley to school. Nine thirty."

"Nine thirty," he spat. "In the meantime, work on those." He didn't wait for her to offer to show him out; he just vanished with a pop, right before her eyes.

Petunia made herself a cup of tea and sipped at it while she re-read Sirius' note and the chapter of the book that he'd recommended. Despite herself, she was interested, and she had an plan formed by the time she'd finished; she very much doubted it was what Sirius had intended when he sent the book, but Petunia didn't much care what he'd intended, because neither he or Harry would be her problem ever again after this.

She'd found herself a way out, and one that didn't involve taking Harry back. Sirius would have to find somewhere else to keep the boy while he waited for his trial or whatever it was he was after. Dumbledore and Snape would be angry when she refused to go along with their plans, but she didn't care. They couldn't force her to play along. All she needed was her own solicitor to set things in motion and then she'd be able to walk out. She'd be free.

She picked up the phone and dialled Richard Polkiss' number. It rang a few times and then she heard him pick up.

"Polkiss Solicitors-"

"Richard," she said, before he could say anything more, "it's Petunia Dursley."

"Mrs Dursley? Did you want to speak with Helen? Our home number's-"

"No," she said. "I want to speak with you."

"About?" he asked. She knew from his tone that she had his attention.

"I was speaking to Elizabeth Hill – Gordon's mother?" Petunia said idly. "She told me something very interesting about y-"

"I see," Richard said, his voice climbing an octave. "I... er... thank you for calling me directly. Helen shouldn't- can't believe Liz told-" He seemed to compose himself. "Was there something you needed help with?"

"As a matter of fact there is."

* * *

"McKinnon!" Marlene froze and tried to look calm. Her wand and Gawain's badge seemed to be burning her through her pocket, however, and she felt hot, flushed with an odd mix of fear and fury.

"Tonks," Marlene said, relaxing a little, when she spotted the source of the voice. She approached Tonks, who was waiting outside Scrimgeour's office with Lupin. Both looked tired and a little the worse for wear and Marlene remembered Greyback; she hadn't given him much thought except for telling Mad-Eye about Tonks' predicament. "Did Greyback-"

"He's caught," Tonks said tiredly, and Lupin squeezed her shoulder. She smiled up at him and then turned her attention back to Marlene. "What about you? Why'd you rush out?"

"You haven't seen the paper?" Marlene asked.

"No," Tonks said, frowning. Lupin, Marlene noticed, had stiffened. She caught his eye and he inclined his head.

"And you didn't wonder why everyone's going mad?" Marlene asked, gesturing to the mayhem around them. There were reporters all over the place and Aurors running around like there were chimeras after them.

"I thought it was because of Greyback," Tonks said, frowning. "What's going on?"

"They've caught Sirius," Marlene said, keeping her voice and expression neutral. Tonks gasped, but Lupin looked unsurprised, though his expression hardened a bit.

"You're joking!" Tonks exclaimed. She turned and threw her arms around Lupin. "Remus, isn't that wonderful! First Greyback, now Sirius-"

"Is Harry here too?" Lupin asked, looking troubled.

"We got them both," Marlene said, after a moment's hesitation; no one was supposed to say anything, but it was _Lupin._ She could trust Lupin. "He's in with Amelia and Dumbledore." Lupin's head snapped up. Tonks was watching him with a pitying expression.

Scrimgeour's door flew open and the man limped into the doorway. Another Auror slipped past, looking grim. "Trainee Tonks! And Mr Lupin, I believe?"

"Yes, sir," Lupin said, and shook his hand. Scrimgeour eyed him for a moment, as if trying to work out whether they'd met before, but Lupin was too busy glancing in the direction of Amelia's office to notice.

"Congratulations," Scrimgeour said, directing the comment more at Tonks than Lupin. "This morning's events are a promising start to your Auror career, if you ask me." Tonks beamed, and something in Marlene's chest twisted a bit; he'd said the same thing to her about her apprehension of Sirius in Diagon Alley and she was only minutes from throwing it all away. "Come in, both of you." Tonks bounced past him, looking pleased.

"Auror Scrimgeour," Marlene said, before Lupin could follow. Scrimgeour appeared to notice Marlene for the first time. She gave him a charming smile. "Sir, could I borrow Lupin for a few minutes?"

"Well..." Scrimgeour said, frowning. "A few minutes, McKinnon," he said, sighing. Marlene suspected it was only last night's success that made him agree. "Less, if you can manage it." He closed the door and then Marlene couldn't hear a word; the offices were generally warded to keep sound from escaping.

"Do you remember the conversation we had in St Mungo's?" she said, before Lupin could ask what she wanted to talk about. He frowned for a moment, and then his eyebrows shot up.

"About Si- him?" Lupin sniffed once and then frowned again. "You mean you're-"

"I'm going down there now," she said quietly. "I'm going to finish this."

"You're going to kill-"

"Keep your voice down!" she hissed, though he hadn't really said it that loudly.

"Here?" he breathed. "Now? Marlene-"

"Are you with me or not?" Lupin seemed frozen. He was obviously thinking very hard about his options.

"I-"

"Yes, or no?"

"Marlene-"

"Are you done out here?" Scrimgeour asked, pulling his office door open again. Lupin seemed to have forgotten how to talk.

"Yes, sir," Marlene said, smiling at the older Auror. "Thank you."

She turned and left, headed straight for the elevators. She could hear Lupin stammering something to Scrimgeour, but since no one followed, she assumed he hadn't given her away.

She took the elevator to level nine and took the doorway on the left of the door that led into the Department of Mysteries. She took the stairs down to the tenth level and walked calmly but quickly through a narrow corridor until she reached a wall that wasn't really a wall. She walked right through it and shivered; two Dementors stood – well, floated – before a lift. One drifted forward, scabby hand outstretched and Marlene pulled Gawain's Auror badge out of her robe pocket. This would never work if there were Aurors on guard, but Marlene had known there wouldn't be. The Dementor paused and then moved aside.

Bad memories swirled in the back of her mind but they were dim, drowned out by other thoughts. She was about to become a murderer. That wasn't a happy thought, but it wasn't a bad one either – did Sirius even count as human? - and so the Dementors left it alone. She stepped into the lift and slid back the concealed panel that displayed ten colourful buttons. She pressed the white one, and the lift jerked and sped backwards before dropping suddenly. If she'd pressed any of the others, an alarm would have gone off.

Dark stone rushed past her face and it grew colder and colder and darker and darker until the lift stopped and she was blinded by white light. She stepped out and was immediately greeted by two Dementors, but she flashed the badge again and they backed off.

"Take me to Sirius Black," she said, pleased that her voice barely shook.

* * *

Sirius was cold. He had a slightly higher than normal body temperature thanks to Padfoot, but this wasn't the sort of cold that was fixed by body heat. No, this was Dementor cold. Azkaban cold, though thankfully without the wind.

His cell was seven paces by seven paces, with a single, heavy door and no windows or other openings. The door had a small, barred hole in it – so Aurors could make sure he was still inside without having to open the door – and the doorhandle was on the outside. Two Dementors stood on either side of the door, though on the outside. That was something at least, that he didn't have to share his cell _with_ them.

Everything in the cell was white – the walls, the floor, the bed, the chairs and the table (all the furniture was fixed to the floor with a Permanent Sticking Charm) – which made it the perfect backdrop for horrific, Dementor induced memories. Still, he'd take this stark white to Azkaban's grey every time.

Sirius' door opened and closed. He was staring at the wall - wondering whether Harry was safe and hoping someone had called Remus or Dumbledore in to comfort him – feeling absolutely miserable thanks to the Dementors and really wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone. Maybe if he pretended he was asleep-

"I know you're awake." Sirius rolled over so quickly he tumbled off his pathetically narrow excuse of a bed. A smile ghosted over Marlene's face, apparently before she could smother it. It was gone a moment later.

"You've woken up next to me enough times to tell the difference," Sirius said, rubbing his shoulder. She looked like he'd slapped her. He climbed off the floor and sat down on the edge of the bed, watching her. She watched him back. "Why are you alone? You're just a trainee-"

"Dementors are blind," she said, and tossed something gold at Sirius. It landed on the bed next to him and he picked it up. It was round and quite heavy, with the D.M.L.E. motto and logo on the front of it. There was also a name: _Auror Gawain Robards. _Sirius felt his heart sink and he looked up at Marlene, but she was still standing by the door, looking calm.

"Stealing?" he asked, with a shaky laugh. "Aren't Aurors supposed to be the good guys?"

"You're one to talk," she shot back and then added in a softer voice, "Besides, it won't be the worst thing I do today." She watched him with a horrible, detached sort of curiosity. "Are you going to beg?" Sirius shook his head. She didn't look surprised. "You know you deserve it, don't you?"

_Yes, I deserve it. _He knew she wouldn't actually kill him – she'd probably just curse him, and he certainly deserved that. _I made them swap to Peter, I-_

"Shut up," Sirius muttered, and then sighed; this was like the Dementor's Draught all over again- He laughed; it could be dealt with – fixed, even – the same way!

"You really are mad, aren't you?" Marlene asked, looking at him in a way that was almost pitying.

"Not at all," he said, and the look was definitely pitying.

"Goodbye, Sirius," she said, and pulled out her wand. Sirius stood up slowly – he didn't want to startle her into attacking him – and moved across the cell until he was behind the table. That might give him a bit of protection. Maybe.

"This is a mistake," he told her, keeping his eyes on her wand. It wasn't pointed at him yet, but when it was, he'd need to be ready; he'd tackle her and tie her up. And then... escape? With a wand and Auror identification, he could go anywhere.

_But I want a trial, _he thought glumly. _And I won't get that if I keep running. _He'd stay then. He'd pass Marlene over to the next Auror that came to visit him. She'd lose her job, but she'd lose if she went through with this anyway. And he could use the fact that he hadn't tried to escape as a gesture of goodwill.

"Is it?" she asked in a hard voice.

"Yes," he said. "And I can prove it." He'd transform, and then, even if she was still doubtful, she'd listen. "I'm going to show you-"

"Show me?" she scoffed. Sirius took a step away from the table so he wouldn't hit it when he changed. "Don't move!" she said. He put his hands up to calm her down.

"I'm just going to-"

"I said don't move." Her wand was aimed directly at his chest and he knew that if he started to shift now, she'd panic and attack him. He let out a little helpless growl, and her hand twitched; her wand was aimed at his face now. He watched her warily, and – though her wand didn't move at all – her expression softened. "I'm sorry it's come to this."

_She'll hex me,_ he thought grimly, and braced himself. _Then her conscience'll kick in and she'll feel bad and we'll have a chance to talk-_

"_Avada Kedavra,_" she whispered and Sirius could only watch - fascinated, and too stunned to move - as green light blossomed out of the end of her wand.


	44. Friends Lost And Found

The door burst open behind Marlene, just as Sirius hit the floor. She twisted, wand up and ready. It was Gawain and she hesitated. He didn't.

"_Expelliarmus!"_ he said and her wand soared out of her hand and landed somewhere behind her. "_Incarcerous_," he said, looking grim, and Marlene didn't fight as the ropes wound around her.

_It's done_, she thought, glancing at where Sirius lay unmoving. _Finally. _She thought she was in shock – she'd just _killed _someone – and she'd used an _Unforgivable _– her mouth felt foul, like she'd eaten dirt, or licked the floor of a public toilet - but she felt relieved at the same time. Not because he was dead, but because she'd finally fulfilled her duty. She'd expected to feel happy about it, but she didn't.

She hadn't _wanted_ to kill him, in the end - the moment she'd seen him again, she'd been plagued by doubts – what if he was innocent, what if Lily and James wouldn't want the traitor dead, what would Harry think, was revenge worth losing the life she'd spent the last few months building for herself? – but she'd had to. It had needed to happen. Her doubts hadn't exactly made it easy, or fun, though.

_Fun. Merlin I was stupid to think his death would be a happy occasion. _She'd always imagined it would be but now... she couldn't convince herself. She'd spent months _living_ for this moment and now it fell pitifully short of her expectations. She snorted a laugh and Gawain threw a disgusted, disappointed look in her direction, which made her heart sink again. _Was it worth it?_ she wondered. She knew from Gawain's cold expression that he wouldn't want to hear her justifications – weak as she thought they'd be. In his eyes, it was murder.

_It _was_ murder_, Marlene's conscience – who sounded a bloody lot like Lily (a _very_ disappointed Lily) – whispered. _He was defenceless. He didn't have anywhere to run, to hide._

"He deserved it," she said in a small voice, but she wasn't sure he had, not like this. Maybe she should have given him the chance to at least fight back. Lily didn't answer, but Gawain did; he was halfway to Sirius' body when he turned.

"Did he?"

"Yes," Marlene insisted. She shifted in her ropes so that she could lean against the wall of the cell. It didn't escape her notice that last night, Sirius was the one who'd been in this position. Last night, Sirius had been alive. "He killed them- he was a murderer!"

"And now you're no better," Gawain told her. There was none of his usual wry humour in his eyes, none of his usual warmth. Marlene felt very cold, and not just because of the Dementors outside. Gawain picked up his badge, which was lying on the table and pocketed it. "Do you regret it?" he asked, watching her carefully.

She hadn't had doubts that this course of action was the right one until she'd walked into the cell. She'd seen it in Sirius' eyes that he hadn't thought she'd go through with it, seen the lingering faith that she wouldn't truly hurt him. His trust in her had belonged to _her_ Sirius – a man who'd died long before today – not to the monster with his face who lay under the white table in the white cell. But the monster hadn't acted like a monster. He hadn't fought back, he'd only tried to talk to her. She'd thought for a moment that maybe, just maybe, her Sirius was still there. She'd hesitated. Apologised.

_"I'm sorry it's come to this," _she'd said. And then she'd had to remind herself that she was supposed to want him dead, that she had a duty to go through with it, even if it would cost her everything. She'd lifted her wand and only long honed instincts had kept her hand steady. And then she'd forced out those words, those filthy, foul tasting words and ended it. Ended him. It should have felt like the right thing to do, but it felt like betrayal.

_You're being ridiculous. Sirius was a traitor. We were on different sides. It's not- it _can't_ be betrayal. It had to happen._

She took a deep breath and tried to justify things. Harry was safe, and she was safe and Sirius wouldn't hurt anyone ever again... or so she hoped. It would be very like him to haunt her.

And with that thought, she burst into tears and started to laugh all at once.

Gawain looked alarmed and stepped toward her and then resolutely away. His eyes hadn't softened at all, and no doubt he thought she was just as mad as the cell's former occupant. He turned away from her, which hurt, and crouched down beside Sirius. Marlene wanted to tell him that she hadn't really wanted to kill Sirius, that in the end, she'd done it out of a sense of obligation, not bloodlust. That she hadn't enjoyed it and that she wasn't happy, didn't feel any better now.

"It had to be done," she said, in a wobbly voice. She looked at Sirius, sprawled on the floor beside Gawain and tried to hate him – then, maybe she'd be able to feel like she'd done the right thing - but couldn't. It was hard to hate a dead man and harder still to hate one she'd killed herself. She let out a hysterical sob, but Gawain didn't pay her any attention; he was waving his wand over Sirius, doing Merlin knew what.

"_Rennervate_," Gawain murmured.

"It won't work," Marlene said flatly. "He's _dead._"

Except he wasn't.

Dead men didn't gasp and let out spluttering coughs. Dead mean didn't roll over and vomit. Dead men didn't wipe their mouths on their sleeves and slowly, shakily push themselves upright.

Sirius Black wasn't dead.

Marlene couldn't hate a dead man, but she had no trouble with a living one. She'd had her doubts about killing him but that didn't mean she wanted him _alive_.

"What have you_ done_?" Marlene demanded, thrashing against her ropes. "Gawain, what have you done!? He's supposed to be dead!" She was crying again, but these weren't hysterical, confused tears. They were angry, confused tears partially because she'd failed, and partially because part of her – not a very big part, but part of her nonetheless – was relieved. "Gawain!"

It wasn't supposed to be this way. He was supposed to be dead and she was supposed to feel uncertain, maybe even guilty about it, but she'd have got over that. Now, she'd used an Unforgivable on an unarmed man, been caught doing it – Gawain would have seen the green light through the cell door window – and didn't have anything to show for it. She broke into loud, frame-shaking sobs, straining uselessly against her bindings.

"W-why?" she asked. "What did I- W-why aren't you dead?" she snapped, glaring at Sirius though blurry eyes. He looked so shaken and sad that she obviously wasn't going to get an answer from him. He stared at her for a moment and then turned away abruptly and staggered over to his little bed. He flopped down and rolled over to face the wall. His shoulders were trembling. "Gawain, _why_?" she choked.

"You have to mean it," Gawain said, coming to sit beside her.

"But I did- I did mean it, I s-swear," she whispered. But she hadn't. She'd had doubts. She'd been acting out of duty, not passion or defence. Duty might be enough for a Death Eater, but not for her. She thought that was a good thing, but it didn't feel like it right now. It felt like failure.

"I told you you were better than that," he said, wrapping her in a hug. Ridiculously, that made her cry all the harder.

"I'm n-not, though. I want h-him dead- you should be dead!" she said to Sirius' back.

"If that was true," Gawain said, coolly, "then he would be."

"He's not but he _should_ be," she corrected. "I'm going to be expelled from the Program, even though I failed."

"No," Gawain said, pulling away from her.

"W-What?" she asked, brushing her cheeks.

"You'll be fined – you're going to donate a _very_ large amount of money to St Mungo's or some other charity. You're also going to do your best to make it through the Program- better, actually. I want you to be the top of the class." Marlene stared at him; neither punishment was unreasonable. In fact, they seemed light; Marlene was already ranking highly in the class, and she donated to St Mungo's regularly. "And," Gawain said, "you're going to promise me that you will _never_ try something like this again." She gave him a stony look. "You cast the spell but you didn't _mean _it, and that's good enough for me to offer you a second chance, but if you can't promise me this, then you're not worth saving."

She'd just risked losing her job, her friends- her _life_, to kill Sirius. She wasn't going to do that twice.She was being given a second chance – one she hadn't expected and one she didn't deserve – and she was going to use it.

"I promise I won't kill him myself," she said slowly. She could promise that. She could want him dead without arranging it herself. "But I'm not about to stop the Ministry if they decide to have him Kissed."

"I wouldn't ask you to," Gawain said. "But do you promise?"

"I promise," she said.

"Good girl," he said. He Summoned her wand, untied her, and passed it over. "So you'll stay quiet and I'll stay quiet and we'll keep your punishment between us. That only leaves one small problem." He glanced at Sirius again. "Black."

"Robards." Sirius' voice was muted and shaky and he didn't roll over to face them.

"Are you okay?"

"What do you think?" Sirius reply would have had more sting if his voice hadn't broken on the last word. Gawain didn't seem to know how to respond; he was frowning thoughtfully at Sirius' back.

"Are you hurt?" Gawain asked after a pause. Sirius didn't reply for a moment.

"Fine," Sirius said tersely. His voice was off, but Marlene, absently, didn't think she could blame him for that. "And I'm not pressing charges."

"Why not?" Marlene demanded. "What's in it for you?"

"Absolutely nothing," Sirius snapped. "And as for why... I'm crazy, remember?"

"I'm not complaining, Black," Gawain said incredulously, "but I'm finding it hard to believe that you won't twist this to get your way, somehow."

"That sounds like complaining to me," Sirius remarked. Anger and confusion and sadness pierced Marlene; it was something Sirius – her Sirius – would have said.

"Thank you," Gawain said slowly, and gestured for Marlene to stand. She did, and Sirius didn't move or say anything back. He remained facing the wall as they left.

* * *

Sirius hadn't thought Marlene was capable of killing him. Oh, he'd known that she was capable of killing – she'd killed a Death Eater to save a pregnant Lily during their Order days – but not killing _him. _He'd expected – if she ever got the upper hand in a confrontation – that she'd hex him, and hand him over to Dumbledore or the Ministry. She'd talked about killing him before and while he'd believed that she wanted him dead, he'd never thought that she'd be willing to act on it herself. Accepting that would have meant accepting Marlene as the enemy – not in the way that Lily and James had been 'enemies', but rather the way that Voldemort and Dumbledore had been.

Sirius hadn't wanted Marlene as an enemy. He'd loved her back in the Order days, though he'd never admitted it to anyone until after her 'death'; amidst the crying and shouting and swearing and destruction of his possessions with the nastiest hexes he could think of at the time, he'd confessed to James. Not even Marlene had known. And, despite thinking she was dead for seven years and going to Azkaban, Sirius' feelings – though slightly less powerful than they had been – remained.

He rolled over and winced. He suspected he had one, maybe two broken ribs from where he'd hit the floor. He didn't remember falling, but he'd gone from standing up to lying down so he assumed that was what had happened. Carefully, he slid his robes off and pulled up his jumper and t-shirt. He let out a pained whistle and grimaced. His side was covered in a nasty yellowish purple bruise and an angry, mottled red bruise covered the skin over his heart, where her curse had hit him.

_Well damn,_ he thought and wondered if he should have said anything to Gawain when he'd asked if Sirius was hurt. Injuries like this certainly wouldn't be easy to hide and they'd be even harder to explain.

He'd deluded himself into thinking that her own feelings might still be there somewhere. Sirius realised now that they were either buried deep beneath layers of hatred and resentment, or that they'd been destroyed entirely by what she thought he'd done. Old affection wasn't going to help him, and he'd almost died for thinking so. It had been stupid and reckless, and he wouldn't underestimate her again; her spell – her _Killing Curse - _had hit him. Some lingering doubt – which, to be honest, he could probably thank the Dementors for – had weakened the spell. It wasn't something he could rely on again and he suspected that if she'd been just a tiny bit madder when she'd cast, he wouldn't be alive to be contemplating all of this.

_There's a cheerful thought._

He'd never be able to hate her – how could he, when he'd have done the exact same thing if it was Peter? – but he could stop himself from actively liking her. She'd be an old acquaintance, and above all a threat. She'd be nothing else to him. Hoping for her to accept his story and forgive him and suggest they pick up where they'd left things eight years ago would only make Sirius miserable, or get him killed.

_She's the enemy now, _he thought, feeling shaky but determined. He wondered, briefly if he _should _tell someone about the attack – wasn't that what enemies did? – and then disregarded the thought. _My life for her job_, he thought, and that hadn't been his reasoning at the time but it seemed fair from his new non-friendly vantage point.

With that sorted, Sirius turned his attention to the Dementors. He hadn't slept well – all right, at all – overnight because of them, but they weren't affecting him much while he was awake, other than to make him feel cold, or make him think something depressing on occasion. He'd been the same for his first day in Azkaban, and then everything had hit him like a rampaging Hippogriff on his second night in prison. He didn't intend to let that happen this time; he needed to be as mentally sound as possible while he was dealing with the Aurors.

He wasn't going to tell anyone about Peter just yet – that was something to hint at, and then bring out at his trial – but he couldn't refuse to share other details or they'd decide he was a waste of time. It would be a very delicate process. He hoped Remus came to visit; he knew he wouldn't get any news of Harry from anyone else.

Sirius took a deep breath. He closed his eyes, willing himself to fall deeper and deeper into his mind. Azkaban bloomed, like an ugly grey flower and Sirius was standing on grey stone, instead of lying on his lumpy bed. He pushed open the door of his cell and stepped out.

He rifled through a few happy memories until he found one happy enough. _Expecto Patronum, _he thought, focusing on Christmas with Harry and Remus. He thought of how it had felt to be back on a broom again, and the way Harry's face had looked while he was flying and on the way Remus had shed the weight of the camp and smiled and laughed. Sirius remembered what it had felt like to have a family again and then Padfoot burst out of his wand and into the darkness.

Just like he had when he'd got rid of the Dementor's Draught, Sirius opened his mind to the Patronus and gave it access to every happy memory he had. It glowed, casting warm, silvery light over Azkaban's ruins and the stormy North Sea.

_Stay here,_ he whispered, and Padfoot wagged his tail and ran off. Sirius laughed; the Patronus was spreading its protection to the perimeters of the island – which was what Sirius wanted - but it had directly disobeyed his command. He supposed it was poor wording on his part.

He watched, smiling, as Padfoot passed through a happy memory; Remus' speech on Lily and James' wedding day echoed in his mind-body's ears, and Sirius saw Lily's vibrant hair, the flash of James' glasses, and heard his own bark-like laugh. Padfoot was white now, glowing like the star Sirius as named after and he loped off down the cliff path to the beach. Sirius grinned and opened his eyes.

"Aargh!" Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic, leaped back. Sirius yelped – Fudge had been leaning right over him – and pushed himself upright. It hurt, but he tried not to let it show.

"I don't know what you've lost, Minister," Sirius said, as Fudge hid behind Rufus Scrimgeour and Amelia Bones, "but I doubt it's up my nose." His attempt at humour fell pitifully short; Fudge was too thick to see the humour in it, Scrimgeour had a rather dry sense of humour and Amelia's sense of humour was entirely Ravenclaw and so incomprehensible to everyone else.

"We have questions for you, Black," Scrimgeour said in his brittle voice.

"Thought you might," Sirius said. He heaved himself to his feet and the three of them flinched. He rolled his eyes and sat down in the chair at the table on the furthest side of the room and gestured to the seats opposite. "Have a seat." The three of them exchanged uneasy looks, though Scrimgeour looked mildly amused – unless Sirius was imagining it – and sat. Fudge had already recovered from his earlier shock.

"So," he said. "I bet you never expected to end up here, Black, did you? I bet you thought you were going to evade us forever."

"You might remember I was an Auror, Minister," Sirius said politely. "I know exactly where the Ministry's captives are taken so I did in fact, expect I'd end up here." Fudge's face turned a brilliant shade of purple. Sirius didn't know whether it was from anger or embarrassment. "And no. Fun as our little game of Snitch and Seeker's been, I was getting rather tired of running. I'm an innocent man, and I think it's time that was recognised." None of them seemed to know what to say to that.

"An innocent man?" Amelia said finally, looking cautious. "Mr Black-"

"Sirius is fine," Sirius interrupted; they'd been in the Order together, and hearing her call him 'Mr Black' was too strange to handle.

"Sirius then," she said slowly, frowning at him. "Did you or did you not betray Lily and James Potter to Vo-" She cleared her throat. "-to He Who Must Not Be Named?"

"I did not," Sirius said calmly. He felt his Patronus begin to fade and quickly bolstered it with another happy memory; Harry saying his Animagus form looked like Padfoot.

"You deny serving the Dark Lord?" Scrimgeour asked, his tawny eyes flashing. Sirius rolled back his sleeves and put his bare forearms on the table.

"Does that answer your question?" he asked. They were silent. Suddenly, Fudge got up and strode to the door. He tapped it with his wand, vanished, and returned a moment later flanked by two Dementors. Sirius felt the cold enter the room but he didn't feel affected by it. He felt quite warm, particularly with his side throbbing like it was. Amelia and Scrimgeour both shuddered, and Fudge looked uncomfortable. "Did I say something wrong?" Sirius asked, watching the Dementors warily.

Fudge had a shrewd look on his face, and Sirius suddenly understood; Fudge had noticed that Sirius wasn't mad or miserable. He was testing him.

"Go on," Fudge said and the Dementors drifted forward. They stopped, one on either side of Sirius and he felt the temperature drop, though he wasn't actually cold. Sirius thought of another happy memory – the day Remus had brought Harry back from St Mungo's – just in case Padfoot needed more fuel, but the Patronus seemed to be holding its own.

"Could you... er.. turn it up a bit?"

_'Turn it up a bit', _Sirius thought, sighing. _And this from the man who's responsible for all of wizarding Britain... Wonderful. _The Dementors looked – a word Sirius used loosely, since they didn't have eyes – at Fudge for a moment and then turned back to Sirius, who felt the cold creep up on him once again.

Amelia was very pale – obviously the Dementors were affecting her – and Scrimgeour looked grim, but Sirius' mood was unchanged. He thought he probably _should_ have been unconscious and trapped in nightmares. Curious, he gave Padfoot another happy memory and pushed a little. The Dementors moved back, ever so slightly and Sirius immediately stopped pushing. If he could actually force the Dementors to keep their distance, it would be better if no one knew.

"_Accio _wand!" Scrimgeour said, jabbing his own gnarled wand at Sirius. Nothing happened and the three of them exchanged concerned looks. "What are you doing, Black?" he asked.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Sirius said pleasantly.

"_Finite,_" Amelia tried and Sirius watched her calmly. The Patronus was magic, but it was mental. A spell to remove physical magic wasn't going to do anything. None of them seemed to know what to make of the situation and the Dementors probably weren't helping; Amelia had started to shiver.

"Why don't you wait outside," Sirius suggested, glancing at the pair of Dementors. "I think you're making this harder than it needs to be."

"You can't tell them what to do!" Fudge said angrily. "_You're _the prisoner!"

"I know," Sirius said derisively. "But I'd like to be a prisoner for as short a time as possible – I think I've spent enough time playing that particular role, don't you? – and having you three sit here shivering isn't exactly speeding things up."

"Go and wait outside," Scrimgeour snapped, before anyone could say anything. The Dementors left and the others relaxed slightly. Sirius didn't feel all that different. "Go ahead then, Black. What do you want?"

"A trial," Sirius said at once. "And to know how Harry is."

"You're never going to have anything to do with that poor boy again!" Amelia snapped.Sirius spared a moment to wonder what had happened to the concept 'innocent until proven guilty'. "And if you think any of us-" Amelia gestured to herself, Scrimgeour and Fudge. "-are going to help you find him, then-"

"I didn't ask _where_ Harry is," Sirius sighed. "I asked _how_ he is." Amelia blinked, not seeming to understand. Fudge wore a similar expression, and Scrimgeour was looking at Sirius with a bizarre combination of fascination and repulsion. It was as if Sirius was something that had wandered out of the exotic pet shop in Knockturn Alley. "Is he safe?" Sirius asked, talking very slowly and clearly. "Is he happy? Is he scared out of his mind?_How is he_?"

"That's not your concern, Black," Scrimgeour said. Sirius fell back against his chair and folded his arms.

"Like hell it's not," he said, too frustrated to pay much attention to the pain in his chest. "He's my _godson_. I have more right to ask that question than anyone else alive." Amelia's face shadowed over.

"We're not telling you anything," Fudge said.

"Fine," Sirius snapped. "Fine. Don't tell me a thing." He glared at the three of them. "But for your sakes, he'd bloody better be safe."

"Language, Sirius," Amelia said quietly. He made a face at her, and she looked so taken aback that he almost laughed.

"Is that a threat, Black?" Scrimgeour asked softly.

"Yes," Sirius said. "Yes, it is."

"Is it really the best idea for a man in your... ah... current predicament... to be making threats?" Scrimgeour pressed.

"Probably not," Sirius said amiably. "But I care more about Harry's safety than my own." Fudge laughed, and Sirius wanted to throw something large and heavy at him. "Something funny, Minister?" he asked.

"Harry Potter is in Ministry custody," Fudge said, still looking amused. "He couldn't be any safer."

"Really?" Sirius arched an eyebrow and Amelia closed her eyes for a moment; he'd have bet the contents of the Black vault that she knew what was coming. "Correct me if I'm wrong, Minister, but the _last _time Harry was in Ministry custody he was questioned – which, might I add, is illegal if there's not a parent or guardian present." Fudge glanced at Amelia, who nodded reluctantly. "But, illegal or not, I _can_ understand the questioning; given the circumstances Harry arrived under and the fact that you needed answers and I wasn't there to give them to you, you did what was necessary."

"Thank you," Fudge said, puffing his chest out.

"The part I don't agree with is trying to trick him into drinking Veritaserum."

"Rubbish," Fudge said with an edgy laugh; both Amelia and Scrimgeour had given him sharp looks.

"Well, that's what I thought initially," Sirius said. "I mean, really, who could _possibly_ be _stupid_ enough-" Fudge flushed and Sirius could have sworn a small smile flicked over Scrimgeour's lined face. "- to try something like that? There are a whole set of laws which were put in place to stop that sort of thing happening. If you were caught pulling a stunt like that... you'd be sacked on the spot, and I thought _surely_ you weren't _that_ thick." He let that hang in the air for a moment. Fudge shifted uncomfortably. "But the only other alternative was that Harry lied to me..."

"Children can be imaginative," Fudge said stiffly. Sirius shrugged to show that he'd heard but didn't think it applied; children were creative, but Harry was the type to omit details, not insert them. And, Sirius had had the whole story confirmed by Remus, who'd been told my Dumbledore.

"So I had two choices," Sirius continued. "Either you're an idiot, or Harry's a liar." He leaned forward – being careful not to bump his chest on the table - and said, "Harry's not a liar, Minister." Fudge hadn't miss the insinuation and neither, Sirius was pleased to note, had Amelia or Scrimgeour, who looked interested by the turn the conversation had taken, and not at all inclined to come to the Minsiter's defence.

"Nothing happened," Fudge said, his face purple. "He never drank it."

"No," Sirius agreed. "But that's because of his cleverness, not yours, Minister."

"Didn't drink it?" Amelia asked, looking confused, relieved and angry at once. "I was there, and he definitely..." Fudge shrank into his chair.

"Nope," Sirius said, beginning to rather enjoy himself. "He was soaking his sheet – I thought you'd have found it when you searched the room." He knew they had; Remus had told him that Dumbledore knew... but he couldn't exactly bring that up.

"I searched the room myself," Scrimgeour said tartly, "and I never found any sheets." Fudge looked like he wanted to vanish through the floor and Sirius, suddenly, knew what had happened. He couldn't help it; he laughed. Amelia and Scrimgeour both looked at Fudge, who was looking longingly at the floor, as if he hoped it might open up and swallow him. It didn't.

"I couldn't be outsmarted by a little boy," Fudge mumbled, fiddling with the brim of his lime green hat. "People would think- It would have looked-"

"Do you mean to tell me," Scrimgeour said, cutting him off in a dangerous voice, "that you let us waste time and resources following up Potter's 'confessions' because you were too proud to tell us he never drank the potion?"

"Well..." Fudge squeaked. The look on Scrimgeour's face told Sirius that there'd be words about this later, but he wasn't willing to have the rest of this conversation in front of Sirius.

"So," Sirius said, drawing their attention back to him, "we've managed to get a bit distracted, but I trust I've made my point."

"What point?" Fudge asked wearily. Sirius wondered if he still genuinely had no idea, or if he needed to know which of Sirius' many valid arguments he was referring to. Sirius gave him the haughtiest look he could muster – one he took right from his git of a father's face.

"That – given your record, Minister," he said innocently, "I think it's perfectly reasonable that I'm concerned for Harry's safety." Scrimgeour's mouth twitched.

"The boy will be taken care of," Amelia said.

"Oh, I know," Sirius said. "Apart from anything else, you have no reason to have to ask Harry anything because I'm conveniently housed right here." He gave them all a cheery smile. Amelia looked thoughtful, Fudge looked angry and embarrassed and Scrimgeour leaned forward, looking curious again.

"Well," the old Auror said, "if nothing else, this will be interesting."

* * *

Harry was worried out of his mind for Sirius. He'd had no news about his godfather, though he'd overheard something about 'the prisoner' and 'holding cells' and suspected that might be Padfoot. He'd been kept in Bones' office since being brought to the Ministry the night before and had had a steady flow of visitors.

First there'd been a medi-witch and the Auror he'd given his and Padfoot's wands to – she'd introduced herself as Finch - and Mad-Eye Moody, who Harry'd recognised immediately from Padfoot and Moony's descriptions. They'd stayed with him for several hours, checking him for traces of dark magic with all sorts of spells and probes and potions. Then, Bones had arrived with Dumbledore, and they'd stayed with him until early that morning. Since then, he'd seen Fudge, Umbridge, an Auror named Scrimgeour, Lucius Malfoy, a man called Thomas Rattler and – thankfully – Moony.

Moony had stayed for about an hour, but he'd been so pale and scared looking that he hadn't been very good company. Harry'd been dying to talk to him, to ask him what was wrong, and about Padfoot, but Umbridge and Rattler had been there too and so Harry had resigned himself to awkward, polite conversation – though he actually quite liked Rattler – and tried to remember to call Moony 'Remus'.

Then Moony had left with an Auror – he'd walked in, thanked Remus for the tip off and said everything was fine and then he'd looked upset and asked Remus to go and comfort someone. Moony'd looked worried at that, but still noticeably better than before, so Harry tentatively assumed everything was okay. Then, Malfoy had arrived and departed with Umbridge, discussing custody, and Rattler had sat and played Exploding Snap with Harry until a few minutes ago, when he was called out by another Auror to help Bones with something.

Much as Harry had been beginning to feel like an animal in a zoo exhibit, he felt rather lonely in the big, tidy office.

"Shh!" someone on the other side of the office door hissed. Harry, who'd been dozing in Bones' desk chair, jerked and almost knocked over the plate of biscuits on the desk.

"You're the one being noisy!" an indignant voice retorted. Harry didn't think it belonged to an Auror. Or even an adult. Still, he was wary; he slipped out of the chair and hid behind a bookshelf in the corner of the room.

"Oh, _please_," a higher-pitched voice snapped. There was a rustle and then a metallic scratching sound. Harry pressed himself further into the shadows, wishing for his wand. He didn't think he'd need it, but not having it made him feel bare. There was a click and the door groaned and swung open. "You wouldn't know quiet if it hit you with a Beater's bat." Harry heard two sets of light footsteps enter and then a click as the door shut again. "Wow," one of them said and Harry knew it was definitely a girl speaking. "This is much nicer than Dad's office."

"Yeah, except it's empty," a boy's voice retorted. Harry took a deep breath and stepped out of the shadows; he didn't think they were going to hurt him.

"No it's not," he said. He was surprised to find he recognised them; the first was the red-haired boy he'd met when he accidentally Flooed to the Leaky Cauldron in March last year. Harry remembered him being short and stocky, but he appeared to have been stretched; he was easily taller than Harry now, and lanky. The second was his skinny, fiery haired sister, who was about Harry's height and looked smug.

"Told you he'd be here," she said. "We thought you'd be lonely," she added, smiling nervously at Harry.

"I am a bit," he said, smiling back. "It's Ron, isn't it?" Harry said tentatively. The boy – Ron – looked taken aback.

"You remember my name?" he asked, his eyebrows disappearing into his hair. Harry remembered him because he was the first person around Harry's age who'd ever been even remotely friendly to him. He didn't say that, though. He just nodded and turned to the girl.

"I don't know your name," he said apologetically.

"Her name's-"

"I can introduce myself, Ron!" she snapped. Then, blushing furiously, she turned to Harry and said, "I'm Ginny."

"Harry," he said. They both looked at him as if he was daft. Harry cleared his throat, his face feeling hot all of a sudden. "I...er... I guess you know that." Then, at a loss of what to say he added, "Er... Biscuit?"

"They're yours," Ron said, shaking his head.

"Which means they're mine to share," Harry insisted. He hadn't really had anyone – other than Padfoot or Moony - to share with before. "Go on," Harry said, offering them the plate. Ginny blushed again and took one with an embarrassed 'thanks' and Ron took one slowly, as if he thought Harry was joking. Harry grinned at him and after a moment, Ron grinned back.

"Thanks," he said.

"No problem." Harry sat down on the edge of the desk and watched them for a moment. He wanted to ask them how they'd got in – Harry knew for a fact that the door had been locked and warded, because he'd been warned they'd know if he tried to escape. Since he couldn't think of a way to word that without being rude however, he said nothing. In the end, Ginny said it for him.

"You're taking this very well," she said shyly, breaking off a chunk of her biscuit. "If two strangers barged into_my_ room, I'd probably hex them."

"No wand," Harry said, joked, and with an air of false sadness, showed them his empty hands. Ron and Ginny laughed.

"I don't really have a wand either," Ginny admitted. Harry was pleased to notice that his attempt at a joke had caused her to relax a bit, though her cheeks were still slightly pink. "But wands are pretty easy to come by, particularly over the school holidays."

"Why's that?" Harry asked, curious.

"Everyone's home," Ginny said simply.

"Harry?" Ron said tentatively. "When _do _you start Hogwarts? Because in the Leaky Cauldron you said you'd be starting with Fred and George, but you're, you know, _here_, so-"

"Yeah," Harry muttered, flushing. "I... er... sort of lied about that. Sorry," he added but Ron just grinned and sat down in Bones' chair to wait for a response. "Next September," he said. Ron beamed but Ginny's face fell.

"We'll be in the same year then," Ron said happily.

"Brilliant," Harry said, relieved that he'd know someone when he started; he'd never had much luck with friends, and Ron was someone Harry could see himself getting along with. "So you'll be in the year below us?" he asked Ginny who looked surprised and pleased that he'd remembered her. She nodded.

"Do you follow the league?" Ron asked suddenly.

"I don't, really," Harry said, shrugging. "But Pad- er- Sirius – he's my godfather-"

"We _know_ that," Ginny said. Harry felt his face heat up again.

"Right," he muttered. Ginny looked absolutely fascinated.

"It's so easy to forget that this is all real to you," she said.

"Er... what?"

"Well to us-" She gestured between herself and Ron. "- you and Sirius Black are names in the _Prophet_ and characters in bedtime stories – _you're_ not now, that we've talked to you, obviously – but to you he exists... not that he doesn't exist," she amended hurriedly, "but you _know _him, live with him. You thought you had to introduce yourself and him-" She blushed, apparently deciding she'd said too much and said lamely, "It's just strange to hear it from you."

"Oh," Harry said intelligently. It wasn't that she hadn't made sense – she'd made perfect sense – it was that he just didn't know how to respond.

"So who does Bl- uh- Sirius follow?" Ron asked and Harry sent him a grateful look. Ron's ears turned red.

"The Cannons," Harry said, sniggering.

"Oh dear," Ginny said, starting to giggle.

"They're a perfectly good team!" Ron said hotly.

"They're rubbish, Ron." Harry was glad Ginny'd said it, not him, because he was firmly on Moony's – and now Ginny's side – as far as the Cannons' Quidditch abilities were concerned. Ginny looked at Harry and started to laugh again. "Sorry- It's just- Black likes the Cannons," she said helplessly.

"So do you play Quidditch?" Harry asked, trying to keep a grin off his face as he attempted to distract Ron; he was looking insulted on behalf of his Quidditch team.

"Yeah," Ron said, turning away from his laughing sister. "I like Keeper, but I can play Beater or Chaser too. Do you play?"

"I fly," Harry said, shrugging.

"You look like a Seeker," Ginny said, squinting at him.

"Shut up, Ginny," Ron said, obviously taking revenge for the insult to the Cannons. "You can't even fly."

"I bet I could outfly you," Ginny shot back. Ron snorted and Harry thrust the plate of biscuits between them before things could escalate. Things settled after that and then Ginny spotted the Exploding Snap deck and the three of them gathered around the desk to play.

_I wonder if this is what it's like to have friends_, Harry mused, listening to Ron chuckle at a scowling Ginny, who'd just lost an eyebrow in an explosion. He thought it might be.


	45. In Capable Hands

Tonks had had an eventful morning. First, obviously, had been the entire episode with Greyback. Then she'd learned about Sirius' capture from McKinnon and been praised and debriefed by Scrimgeour, while Remus – who'd been so calm while there'd been a werewolf after them – stammered excuses to Scrimgeour about speaking to Robards and ran off without actually explaining anything.

Mad-Eye had swept her into his cubicle when Scrimgeour was done with her and explained everything – mainly that Sirius was downstairs in the holding cells and Greyback had been taken directly to Azkaban – before passing her a letter that had come for Tock.

She'd had to meet Lucius in the Ministry Atrium for a bit and she'd then headed back to the D.M.L.E. to wait for Remus; she was tired and the Greyback fiasco was done, but Remus was still needed here to help with Harry and Sirius and she thought she should stay for his sake. If nothing else, she wanted to make sure he was all right, because he'd looked terrible when he'd taken off looking for Robards.

It wasn't Remus that found her first, however. It was Florence, who'd come in with a upset looking Finch, a sad, grim Kingsley and a stunned Ben. Florence launched herself at Tonks the moment she spotted her. Tonks rubbed her back; Florence was shaking and sobbing uncontrollably, and that scared Tonks because - like Remus - Florence had always been fairly unflappable. Seeing Florence cry would be like seeing McKinnon cry; _it just didn't happen_.

But it was happening. Finch nodded at Tonks from over Florence's shoulder and hurried away, rubbing at her face. Kingsley said something to Ben and went after Finch. Ben shuffled over and wrapped his long arms around both Tonks and Florence.

"Melvin?" Tonks whispered, but she thought she knew; tears were already building in her eyes in anticipation. Florence let out a loud, gasping sob and clutched Tonks tighter. Ben's arms trembled.

Then, in the tiniest voice Tonks had ever heard her use, Florence let out a choked, "Dead."

"How?" she asked, but it went unanswered. Perhaps that was how Sirius had been caught last night... perhaps he'd killed another person. Tonks squeezed Florence with one arm and found Ben's hand with her other and the three of them huddled there, sobbing, until footsteps made them look up. It wasn't Remus, and that made Tonks miserable all over again because she just wanted him there – was that too much to ask right now? It was McKinnon, who had puffy, unfocused eyes and was standing with her shoulders hunched and a trembling bottom lip. Robards was beside her, with a hand on her shoulder. The world was officially backwards.

Florence disentangled herself from Tonks and Ben and threw her arms around McKinnon, who looked stunned until her eyes focused and she hugged Florence back.

"Prewett?" McKinnon asked, looking at Robards with panicked eyes.

"Did you-" Florence choked on a sob.

"Did I what?" McKinnon asked hoarsely, fearfully. They were several yards apart and McKinnon had Florence covering most of her front, but Tonks could see that she was dangerously close to hyperventilating. "Did I what, Prewett?" McKinnon asked, her voice shaking. "What did you hear?" Robards' hand was white knuckled on her shoulder and Tonks wondered what had happened.

"Did _you_ hear?" Florence choked. "M-Melvin's dead. Greyback killed- h-him-"

_Not Sirius._

"Greyback?" Tonks said in a strangled whisper. "No."

"He followed me," Florence cried. "He must have-"

_He must have seen her at the Ministry and followed her to Melvin – she shouted his address into the Floo... And he was only at the Ministry because he was following-_

_"_Me," she said. It was _her _fault. Greyback must have used Melvin to find Marlene's house and then tracked her and Remus from there.

_It's my fault._ _I killed- _Greyback_ killed Melvin, but it was because of me. _Guilt and anger and too many other emotions for her to name came crashing down all at once. _I killed someone – I killed my friend._

She could still hear Florence sobbing and she could still feel Ben's warm hand around hers, but beyond that, she had no idea what was going on. She thought she heard McKinnon say Remus' name and that made her look up, but he wasn't there.

Less than a minute later, though, he was. She knew how much he hated crying – she'd noticed how awkward he got when she cried, though she'd never called him out on it – but he was there anyway, letting her hug him so tightly she was probably leaving bruises, and rubbing her back.

He didn't say anything, but Tonks didn't want him to. The shock of learning it was Greyback was already wearing off, as was the instant desire to blame herself. Some of it _was_ her fault – she and Remus had made the silver ring that had started all of this – and that hurt, like a Bludger to the stomach – but if Greyback hadn't been such a monster and attacked Matt in the first place, he never would have known it was Tonks' jumper.

And, ultimately, Greyback was the one who'd tracked Melvin down, and he'd gone out of his way to do so, because Melvin hadn't been at the Ministry last night. She might have been the reason Greyback went looking for Melvin, but she wasn't the reason Greyback had killed him.

A knot of guilt untied itself and morphed into anger.

_I hope he rots in Azkaban, _she thought, burying her face in Remus' shoulder. _And I'm sorry, Melvin. I'm so, so sorry._

Tonks was still on that same bench two hours later, though she'd stopped crying and Remus wasn't next to her, though he wasn't far away; he and McKinnon were taking quietly a short distance down the corridor. McKinnon was crying, and Remus was pale, but looked relieved and he had a hand on her shoulder.

Ben and Florence were huddled next to Tonks and both of them were still crying on and off; she felt awful about Melvin but Florence and Ben had actually shared mentors with him – since Shacklebolt and Finch did almost everything together – and had known him a lot better than Tonks and McKinnon had. She could only imagine what they were going through. She squeezed their hands. Remus hugged McKinnon - who left, looking slightly better - and made his way over. He gave Tonks a small, sad smile which she shakily returned.

"Will you be all right if I go to sit with Harry for a bit?" he asked, watching her carefully. She nodded and he left. She watched him go and was tired enough that her eyes stayed fixed on the corner he'd gone around even when he was well out of sight. Only about a minute after, however, Remus was back, looking torn between amused and weary.

"What?" she asked.

"Your friend Charlie..." he said and Tonks took a moment to take that in, given how random it was. "His last name was Weasley, wasn't it?"

"What?" she said again, blinking up at him. "Yes..." All she could think was, _Not Charlie too_... _Oh, _please_ not Charlie. _She didn't think she'd be able to cope if Charlie'd been eaten by a dragon or something. Her eyes were filling with tears again and Remus looked taken aback. "Is he okay?" she asked.

"I'm sure he's fine," Remus said, looking so genuinely bewildered that she relaxed and even laughed weakly. "I need your help with something – two somethings, actually – that are related, though."

His warm hand gently tugged her own hands away from Florence and Ben but he didn't let go after that, as she'd expected. She gave him another shaky, half-hearted smile and he returned it as he helped her up and led her down the corridor to Bones' office. He twisted the doorknob and pushed the door open. Three heads snapped up as they entered – Tonks tripped through the doorway - and closed the door again.

"Tonks!" Ginny - who'd been stretched out on the carpet, drawing something on a scrap of parchment - looked up, shrieked, and charged at Tonks. Tonks gave her a one-armed hug because she didn't want to let go of Remus.

"Wotcher," she said reflexively and then, more faintly, "What are you doing here?"

"We came to work with Dad today-" Ginny had a smear of ink on her cheek, was missing an eyebrow and her hair was singed and lopsided but she was grinning widely. "and heard Harry-" She blushed at his name. "-was here, so we thought we'd come to keep him company."

"Shouldn't the room have been warded?" she asked, looking at Remus.

"It's charmed to go off if magic's used to unlock the door," he said, smiling faintly.

"We used a hairpin," Ginny said, blushing again.

"Sorry," Ron said and then abruptly, "Have you been crying?"

"Er... no," Tonks said. "I'm just tired, that's all."

"Oh." Ron, looked sheepish in his large desk chair. Ron had always been embarrassed around Tonks; on Tonks' second visit to the Burrow, Fred and George had told her that he fancied her. Tonks didn't know whether it was true or not – knowing Fred and George, it had probably been a lie to stir up their little brother - but Ron had been mortified either way, the poor thing. Like Ginny, his hair was blackened in places and he had a smudge of soot on his nose.

The third person in the room was none other than Harry Potter, who was sitting on the edge of the desk, opposite Ron. He had a sooty face too, but his hair was too dark for her to tell if it was singed. He was watching Tonks curiously, and then his eyes flicked to her and Remus' hands. Remus' fingers spasmed as if he might let go, but Tonks squeezed gently and he squeezed back. A mischievous grin flickered over Harry's face and then it was gone, replaced by a worried frown. Then that went too, and he smiled again and slid off the desk to offer Tonks his hand.

"I'm Harry," he said, as if she didn't already know that.

"Tonks," she said, bemused; he'd offered his left hand so that she could shake it without letting go of Remus' hand and she wondered if he'd done it on purpose, or if it was purely a coincidence. She shook herself, glanced at Ron and Ginny again and then turned to Remus. "I take it I'm here to take them back to Mr Weasley?"

They were luckier than they knew to not only have been able to stay this long, but to have not been found yet; if they'd been found by anyone but Remus, they'd have been in serious trouble and Mr Weasley probably would have been investigated. Still, if a ten year old boy and his eight year old sister were able to get to with a hairpin, it probably didn't say much good about how well protected Harry was... although, most people trying to get to him would have used a wand.

"I assume you know where to find him," Remus said, smiling.

"Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office," Tonks said. She released Remus and jerked her head at the door. "Come on, you two." Ginny looked put out but she mustered a smile and a goodbye for Harry and blushed furiously the whole time.

"I s'pose I'll see you at school?" Ron said, looking uncertain.

"Definitely," Harry said, grinning and Ron smiled back. "Maybe sooner if things go well here."

"I hope they do," Ron said.

"Thanks." Harry's eyes drifted out of focus for a moment. "So do I."

"I mean, if something happened..." Ron began and Tonks winced; she knew Ron wasn't exactly tactful and hoped he wasn't about to destroy the friendship he and Harry seemed to have formed. "... well," Ron said, grinning, "there are few enough Cannons supporters as it is and need everyone we can get."

Harry and Ginny laughed and even Remus made a noise that might have been a smothered laugh. Obviously, Tonks was missing something. He joined Ginny over by the door and Tonks pulled it open. Remus went to sit in the chair Ron had vacated.

"Hey," Harry said, sounding shy all of a sudden. Tonks and both Weasleys looked up. "Thanks for... everything. Coming to see me, I mean. It was...I- thanks." Tonks was taken aback and touched by his sincerity and so, it seemed, were Ginny and Ron; Ginny beamed and went a brighter shade of red and Ron's ears matched his sister's face. His smile wasn't quite as wide, but it was just as pleased. "It was nice to meet you, Tonks!" Harry added as she ushered the other two out of the office.

She smiled over her shoulder at him and closed the door. No one paid her, Ginny or Ron much attention, thankfully, and they didn't attempt to run away or hide from her. She hadn't expected them to, but she was glad anyway.

"I _told _you it was a good idea," Ginny said, beaming at Ron.

"Yeah," he said, grinning.

"Good idea or not," Tonks said, amused, "it'd probably be a good idea to keep this to yourselves." Both nodded solemnly, but still looked exceptionally pleased with themselves.

* * *

"You ready, Dumbledore?" Alastor asked.

"No," Albus sighed. "I daresay I'm not." Alastor laughed bleakly and peered through the window in the door. Apparently he deemed it safe, because he stepped back, tapped it with his wand and then gestured for Albus to follow him in. Alastor didn't spare a glance for the man on the small bed in the corner; he occupied himself with locking the door and checking the room for any traps.

Albus, however, looked at Sirius, who'd rolled over when they'd entered. His eyes had brightened at the sight of them – both of them, if he wasn't mistaken – but he quickly schooled his expression into an unreadable one. He didn't look the way Albus had expected. Albus had been expecting a thin man with sunken eyes, waxy skin, an unshaved, possibly bearded face, and long, matted hair. That was the way he'd looked in the photographs in the _Prophet_ and the way he'd been described.

He looked... normal. Like an older version of the handsome, friendly boy who Albus had watched grow into an Order member.. and then a traitor. Sirius was maybe a touch thinner than he should have been, but the broadness in his shoulders was still there, and he was by no means emaciated. His skin was... well, skin. He had a smattering of stubble, but he'd been in this cell for nearly a day now and his hair was black, shaggy and shoulder-length, the way it had been when he was in the Order. What threw Albus most was his eyes, however.

They weren't shadowed, or sunken, as was symptomatic of spending any extended time in Azkaban; Mundungus Fletcher – a once-valued Order member turned petty criminal – had served several – admittedly short - sentences there and his eyes still bore the shadows. Sirius', though were clear grey, alert. If Albus didn't know better, he wouldn't have believed the man before him had ever seen Azkaban, much less spent a quarter of his life there.

It wasn't fair – wasn't _right._ He should have suffered for what he'd done - for the way he'd betrayed them - in Azkaban and taken his demons with him when he left! As far as Albus could tell, said demons had been tossed into the North Sea when Sirius left the prison, and he hadn't seen or heard from them since.

He glanced at Alastor, wondering what he was making – or had made, if he'd already been to see Sirius – of it. Alastor wasn't looking at Sirius' face, however. He was frowning at his side. Sirius followed his eyes and swore.

"What've you done to yourself, Black?"

"Done, Alastor?" Albus said quietly.

"Broken rib," Alastor replied, still frowning at Sirius.

"Just the one?" Sirius asked, looking relieved. His voice wasn't quite as hoarse this time. Albus found that disappointing. "Well that's something at least. I thought it was two." Albus stared at the younger wizard, waiting. Sirius hesitated and then said, "It was the Dementors."

"Dementors don't leave physical-"

"I fainted, all right?" Sirius snapped, looking embarrassed. "I was over by the table and next thing I knew, I was on the ground and..." He gestured to his side.

Albus didn't know whether to believe him. He _thought_ Sirius was lying – Sirius had never been a good liar as a boy, which was why James or Remus had been the ones to deal with the teachers when the four got in trouble – but then, Albus hadn't managed to pick up on Sirius' traitorous lies in the months leading to Halloween. He obviously didn't know Sirius as well as he'd thought.

"Does it hurt?" Alastor asked. Sirius' betrayal had hit Alastor as hard as it had hit the rest of them, though it was easy to forget that; Alastor had trained Sirius to be an Auror, spent hours teaching him to stay alive, to fight. Alastor had loved him like a son – or grandson, perhaps – along with James, who he'd also trained - and he'd been devastated when he'd heard the news.

"A bit," Sirius said, shrugging.

"Good."

Sirius laughed and Albus and Alastor exchanged uneasy looks. Sirius hobbled over to the chair facing the door and gestured for them to sit. Albus did, and after checking the chair for traps, so did Alastor.

"I know you like tea, Headmaster," Sirius said, "but I don't have any to offer, I'm afraid."

"Aren't you going to not offer me something too, Black?" Alastor asked gruffly, folding his arms.

Sirius raised an eyebrow and said, "Even when you trusted me you didn't accept drinks from me."

"Hmph!" Alastor said.

"Why, Sirius?" Albus asked, before he could stop himself.

"Because he's a twitchy old codger," Sirius said fondly. His grin faded. "That's not what you meant, is it?" Albus shook his head, and Sirius sighed. "I could ask you the same."

"Pardon?" Albus asked.

"You're asking me why I betrayed Lily and James," Sirius said, looking pained. "I'm asking you why you think I would."

"You were the Secret Keeper," Albus said. He kept his temper in check – it wouldn't do to shout – but he did let some of his fury seep into his tone.

"No, I wasn't," Sirius said. Alastor rolled his eyes – both of them.

"James told me-"

"James lied," Sirius said wearily. "We thought we were so clever, swapping, thought we'd bluff our way through-"

"If you weren't the Secret Keeper, who was?" Alastor growled.

"If you want the answer to that, you'll have to come to my trial," Sirius said, sighing again.

"You don't trust us, Sirius?"

"Not as much as I used to, sir," Sirius said sadly. "You- you've made some mistakes I haven't forgiven you for yet, I'm afraid." Albus gave him an inquiring look. "You didn't ask for a trial for me the first time-," There was a muted, bitter twist to his voice. A long buried twinge of guilt surfaced and Albus shoved it back down again; Sirius had deserved what he'd got. "-and the Dursleys...? You're a brilliant wizard, sir, but that wasn't your finest moment."

"It was for the boy's own safety," Albus said, but he couldn't push down the guilt associated with that, not when Sirius' comment was so uncannily similar to Albus' own thoughts.

"Sure it was," Sirius said. Albus knew Sirius believed him, but his tone condemned Albus all the same.

"What made you take him?" Alastor asked quietly.

"What?" Sirius said, glancing at his old mentor.

"The boy, Black." Alastor tapped his wooden leg on the floor of the cell impatiently.

"I promised Lily and James that I'd take care of him if they ever-" Sirius cleared his throat and stared at his hands for a moment and Albus wondered – with no small curiosity - what he was thinking about. Sirius looked up, his jaw setting. "I wanted him and they didn't."

"Did you ever think of what Harry wanted, Sirius?" Albus asked coolly.

"Didn't have to. He told me – practically begged me not to leave without him, in fact," Sirius said rather dryly.

"And you took him? Just like that?" Albus asked, trying and failing – for the thousandth time – to make sense of the strange man that was Sirius Black.

"Just like that," Sirius agreed, smiling. "And do you know what?"

"What?" Alastor asked warily.

"Other than choosing James' compartment on the Hogwarts Express in my first year, it's the best damn thing I've ever done."

* * *

After returning Ron and Ginny to Mr Weasley, Tonks had retreated to Mad-Eye's office for some peace and quiet. Like Bones, Rattler, Scrimgeour and several other high ranking Aurors and D.M.L.E. staff, Mad-Eye had an office with four walls and a door, and not just a standard cubicle in the Auror Department. Mad-Eye hadn't been there, but she didn't think he'd mind if she stayed for a bit.

She'd curled up on the couch and thought about things – about Melvin, mostly, though Sirius's capture also featured in her thoughts; she supposed her job as Tock was over now – Lucius had certainly suggested as much when they spoke that morning – and she wondered what she was going to do with all of her spare time. She grinned, imagining the possibilities; maybe she could go and visit Tom and Charlie – she'd only received two letters from them in nearly four months – or maybe she could start going into the station with Dad, like she had when she was younger.

Mum worked normal hours and so Tonks saw lots of her at home, but like Tonks, Dad worked strange hours and she hadn't seen him properly for weeks. Or maybe...

"Wassgoinon?" she asked, as someone shook her awake. It was Mad-Eye and he looked tired.

"Constant vigilance," he said half-heartedly.

"You all right?" she asked, rubbing her eyes. "You look... off."

"Black," he said, and limped over to collapse in his desk chair. He ran his hands through his grizzled hair and then folded his hands on his desk and looked up. "So that explains me, but what are you still doing here?" he asked her.

"I'm an Auror," she said, yawning. He didn't correct her and say she was only a trainee.

"So am I, and if I had it my way, I'd be curled up in my bed at home." Tonks laughed and stifled another yawn; she'd slept for at least six hours – the clock on Mad-Eye's desk said it was almost seven – and she still felt like she hadn't slept at all. Mad-Eye's tense look softened. "Go home."

"I'm all right," she said, waving off his suggestion.

"Never said you weren't," he said, raising the eyebrow above his blue eye. "But there's no training until tomorrow morning – tonight's session's been cancelled."

"Why?" she asked, though she'd completely forgotten. Something as normal as Auror training didn't seem possible right now.

"Finch was supposed to be taking it but she's..."

"Melvin." Mad-Eye nodded, his mouth setting into a grim line. Tonks swallowed the lump in her throat and stared at her hands until she was sure she wouldn't start crying again.

"You heard, then?"

"I heard," she said, and had to dab at her stinging eyes anyway.

"Go home, Nymphadora. Get a good night's sleep and I'll see you tomorrow morning."

"Don't call me Nymphadora," she said irritably as she stood up and collected her rucksack from the corner. She looked at her mentor again and for all his experience and the fact that he was a formidable opponent, right now, all she could see was a tired, sad, old man. Her irritation faded. "I suppose it must be hard seeing him again," she said tentatively. Mad-Eye nodded. "I suppose he's changed a lot. That's got to be-"

"Hasn't changed at all," Mad-Eye grunted. "Grown up a bit, maybe, but otherwise he's just the same. Exactly the same." The unhappy slant of his mouth became more pronounced and he didn't offer anything else, so Tonks let it drop.

"I'll go," she said, and stumbled over her own feet on the way to the door. "Make sure you get a good night's sleep too, all right?"

"Good night, Nymphadora," Mad-Eye said, looking amused.

"Good night, _sir_," she said and saw him scowl as she closed the door behind her.

Remus and Dumbledore were talking in the corridor outside but she didn't see either of them until she – quite literally - walked into her old Headmaster.

"Miss Tonks," he said, steadying her, while Remus gave her a tired smile. He looked absolutely dead on his feet. Dumbledore, on the other hand, looked like his usual, cheerful self, though his eyes weren't twinkling and his smile was a little distracted. "On your way home, my dear?"

"Yeah," she said. "Sorry for-"

"It's quite all right," he said, smiling kindly.

"Are you here to see Sirius?" she asked, watching his face carefully. Dumbledore was harder to read than most people. His smile slipped though, and he didn't attempt to hide it. In fact he sighed, but Remus beat him to answering.

"We've just been."

"I thought you were with Harry," she said, looking at him.

"Rattler took me down," Remus said.

"How was it?" she asked hesitantly.

"I might have shouted at him," Remus said, looking miserable. Dumbledore put a hand on his shoulder.

"What did you say?" she asked.

"A lot of things," Remus said, and then his temper flared. "I asked how he could be so bloody calm when he's sitting in a cell surrounded by Dementors, being interrogated – you should have seen him, it's like he didn't even know that they were there! And do you know what he said? He said, 'I'll be all right, Moony, don't worry about me'- That git!" Tonks and Dumbledore exchanged a worried look; Remus looked perilously close to tears, but also helpless and frustrated.

"And so," he continued, "I asked why the hell I'd care what happened to him and do you know what? He looked hurt. _Hurt._ Like I'd offended him! And then he asked about Harry and I told him he's doing absolutely fine without Sirius around and Sirius just nodded and said _thanks, _and that no one had told him anything. He said_thanks!_ And then as we were leaving-"

"Remus-"

"No!" Remus shouted, and Dumbledore closed his mouth. "As we were leaving he said, 'It was nice to see you, Moony'. After everything – after changing sides and stealing Harry, and after I didn't ever visit him in Azkaban, you'd have thought my opinion of him was pretty clear, but no! It's _nice to see me!_" Remus stopped talking. His chest was heaving, his eyes were bright and he looked acutely embarrassed. Tonks reached out and squeezed his hand. Remus looked at her and the anger drained out of his expression. He just looked sad and helpless now.

"Dumbledore, are you done yet?" Scrimgeour asked irritably, sticking his head out of his office at the end of the corridor.

"One moment, Rufus," Dumbledore said mildly. Scrimgeour huffed and stalked back inside. "I think I'm leaving you in capable hands," Dumbledore said, patting Remus' shoulder once again. Remus's shoulders hunched. "I'll see you tomorrow, Remus, and I daresay you too if you're around, Miss Tonks."

"Good night, Professor," Remus said, sounding tired.

"Good night," Tonks echoed and Dumbledore swept away, his yellow and purple spotted robes trailing behind him.

"I should let you get home," Remus sighed, glancing at Tonks.

"Where are you off to?" she asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Matt's, probably," he said. "I need to tell him about Greyback – I don't know if-"

"That can wait," Tonks said firmly. Remus stared at her, not seeming to understand. "You're a wreck, Remus. You haven't slept, we spent last night being stalked by a madman and spent the morning catching him and sitting through interviews, Sirius has finally been caught, you've been trying to help out with Harry, you helped me when I heard about Melv-" Tonks took a deep breath. "Have you eaten?"

"I-" Remus frowned. "Er... well, Harry shared his biscuits-" Tonks sighed and tugged Remus toward the lift. "Where are we going?" he asked, but he followed willingly enough.

"Home," she said. She – and Remus – were both in need of some serious mothering.

* * *

Narcissa knocked on Severus' office door and stepped back to wait. A moment later, the door creaked and opened and a dark eye peered out.

"Yes?"

"Severus," she said, smiling slightly. "Were you expecting someone else?"

"As a matter of fact I was," he said irritably, stepping aside to let her into the dark office. "I'd feared you were the Headmaster." Narcissa arched an eyebrow. "He's been... demanding of late." Severus offered no more explanation than that as he led her through a doorway off to one side. It certainly hadn't been there the last time she'd visited, and it occurred to her that it must usually be concealed.

Severus' quarters were simpler than she'd expected them to be. The walls were grey stone, like the rest of the dungeons, though like Severus' office, these were almost completely covered with shelves of books and potions ingredients. A small, crackling fire was the only sources of light, and allowed Narcissa to see a small bed in the corner of the room, a desk and cabinet in another corner, and that a Slytherin banner was the only decoration. Narcissa could count two doors – three including the one they'd just come through – but all were closed.

Severus swept over to sit at his desk and Narcissa conjured herself a chair. She sat and folded her hands while Severus waved his wand at the torches on the walls. They lit up and brightened the room considerably.

"Now," Severus said, turning back to her. Then, he paused and cocked his head, as if seeing her for the first time. "Are you wearing red?" he spluttered.

"Yes," she said.

Severus blinked, and she wondered if he'd expected a defensive response; Lucius certainly had – she'd argued with him for five minutes about it, until he'd said that at least her robes weren't gold and stalked off to brood in his study. Hydrus had come downstairs and told her she _mustn't_ go out looking like that, because what would people think?

Narcissa had smiled at him, her sweet, oh so Slytherin son, and assured him it was only because she needed to make an impression – she didn't tell him that she needed to make the impression on his brother. She'd expected Draco to be horrified that she was wearing Gryffindor colours, or perhaps ask why she was dressed the way she was. All he'd said, however, was that she looked nice in red.

"I see," Severus said. He shook his head and his expression became serious once more. "I take it this has something to do with Potter."

"Doesn't it always?" she sighed.

"It does," he agreed. "Beyond Potter, however, I have no idea."

"None?" she asked, smirking.

"I have guesses," he admitted. "But I prefer not to waste time so if you'd get to the purpose of your visit..."

"You'll have heard of his capture," she said carefully. Severus' face didn't change. "I thought as much. Then you'll also know that the Department of Management and Control of Magical Children are pushing to have Harry Potter placed into a new, stable home as soon as possible."

"Tomorrow night, I'd heard," Severus said stiffly.

"Dumbledore told you," she said.

"Amongst other things," he said irritably. She ignored his attitude.

"Then you're probably aware that there's something of a gathering tomorrow, where the Ministry can meet the boy's... prospective guardians." Severus groaned.

"I suppose I can guess what Lucius will be doing tomorrow," Severus said, and Narcissa smiled ruefully.

"Indeed." She waited for Severus to say something, but he was silent. "You see why I've come," Narcissa prompted.

"Indeed," he echoed, leaning back in his chair. His black eyes bored into her blue ones and she held his gaze with an effort. She didn't know what he was looking for, but she wasn't about to look away, lest he think her weak. "Where do you stand on the matter?" he asked finally.

"By my husband, of course," she said haughtily.

"If that was true, you wouldn't be here," he drawled.

"I know." Narcissa had always been a woman with her own agenda, but that agenda had usually matched Lucius'. She found herself wondering when that had stopped.

_Probably around the time he told you your son would be a Gryffindor, _she thought grimly.

"Well?" Severus asked.

"I don't want him," she whispered.

"Lucius, or-"

"The boy, Severus," she said impatiently.

"I can hardly blame you," he sneered. "The boy's a reincarnation of his idiot father and Merlin only knows what nonsense Black's filled his head with-"

Narcissa let him rant. Her reasons for not wanting Potter weren't based on his personality or heritage. She did wonder if Lucius had forgotten the boy's mother was a mudb- muggleborn. It was the sort of thing Lucius would overlook in a situation like this, only to remember later and be horrified. Her reasons weren't even based on emotions, though she did fear that if she adopted the boy as Lucius wanted to, that she'd become attached to him and that that attachment would complicate things further. No, Narcissa's reasons had more to do with the welfare of her family.

"- say what they want about Lily's lineage," Severus continued angrily, "but no one can deny she was a decent human being. Potter, though-"

Plain and simply, she wasn't sure that she wanted the Dark Lord back. Lucius and Bellatrix always spoke about how wonderful it had been when he was in power during the war, how exulted they'd felt, and how respected they'd been amongst their comrades. That wasn't the way Narcissa remembered it, though. She remembered Lucius and Bella never being home because they were away serving their Lord and she remembered worrying that they'd end up in Azkaban. Or, that they'd fail at a task and be killed by the Dark Lord himself. She remembered being scared, for their lives, for her own, and for Hydrus' and Draco's once they came along.

"-never mattered to Dumbledore, but then, he's about as senile as he is brilliant and leaning more toward the former with every day that passes-"

Keeping the Potter boy and the Dark Lord on different sides was in her family's best interest, even if she was the only one who realised it. Lucius could return to the Dark Lord's service – and Hydrus and Draco could be initiated if need be – if the Dark Lord took over again. If Potter defeated the Dark Lord again, then having Draco in Gryffindor would help them fit in on the 'good', and the skills he was learning from Severus would help more. For Narcissa, it was all about keeping one finger on the metaphorical Porktey. Taking Potter would mean putting her entire hand on the Portkey and it was too early by far to do something that drastic.

"-will you do?" Severus asked, and Narcissa tried to look as if she'd been listening the entire time.

"If I knew, I wouldn't be here," she said, and Severus groaned again.

"For years," he said almost reflectively, "I expected that either Dumbledore or the Dark Lord would be the death of me. It was a premature evaluation and now, I daresay it will be you."


	46. Mothers And Aunts

Remus yawned and rolled over, blinking himself awake. He was immediately aware that he wasn't in his own bed and started to panic, at least until he placed the scent of the room. Dora. She wasn't in the room with him, but she was the one who'd brought him here, he remembered. She'd brought him back to her – well, her parents' – house last night, and Andromeda had fed both of them and sent them straight to bed.

Remus had been too tired to argue and so had allowed Dora to show him to the spare bedroom. He remembered sitting down on the bed, and then nothing. He must have fallen asleep – or passed out from exhaustion – as soon as he touched the mattress.

A small clock on the bedside table said it was just after nine and Remus sighed; half the morning was gone and he still had so much to do; he had to tell Matt about Greyback, he had to meet Dumbledore to discuss something about Harry, he had to see Harry – who was safe but worried out of his mind for Sirius – he had to see Sirius because Sirius – unlike Harry - was not safe but certainly hadn't appeared worried at all. Remus would try to give him information on Harry again – he knew Sirius would want it – and hopefully he'd be able to do so without having to shout to allay Dumbledore's suspicions.

_So much to do..._ Remus thought miserably, not wanting to move from his warm bed, but he knew he'd have to. Before he could do anything, he'd have to go home and change robes; he'd been wearing the pair he was in for two days now.

He sighed and threw his feet over the side of the bed. And then, something small and reddish-brown dove out from under the bed and latched onto his ankle with sharp teeth and sharper claws. He threw himself back onto the bed, tucking his feet under the covers for protection. His assailant fled the room with a hiss.

_I think I've just met Dora's cat_, he thought, dazed, as he inspected the tooth-marks on his ankle.

Remus heard footsteps – broken, amusingly, by the thump of a hand on a wall that he suspected was indication that Dora had tripped – and then there was a knock on the door. Before he could even answer, however, the door opened to admit Andromeda, not Dora. Andy – who must have been the one that tripped - was holding a pile of clothes and looked surprised that he was awake.

"Oh," she said. "You're up."

"Morning," he said, smiling at her. She smiled back and deposited the bundle of clothes on the end of his bed and passed him an envelope. "Thank you?" he said, arching an eyebrow.

"That'll explain things better than I can, I expect," Andy said briskly, nodding at the envelope. He turned it over and saw that it had Dora's handwriting on the front. "I'd offer you breakfast, too, but I'm not allowed to, apparently."

"I- what?"

"I have no idea, but it's probably explained," she sighed, waving at the letter. She turned as if to leave and then stopped and looked at Remus again. Her scent was nervous all of a sudden. "Remus," she said hesitantly. "I- you were at the Ministry yesterday, weren't you?"

"Yes, I saw Sirius," he said, guessing her next question. Andy's eyes – grey, just like Sirius' – filled with tears.

"I know you probably- I shouldn't be asking- you understand, though, don't you? You knew him too- better than I did, probably. But- can you tell me- Was he- has he- changed?" she asked.

"Not at all," Remus said gently.

Andy closed her eyes for a moment, took a deep breath and opened them again. She looked... determined and Remus found himself remembering that while Andy had a softer side to her than he'd ever seen Narcissa or Bellatrix show, she was still a Black, still a Slytherin and still a formidable woman in her own right.

"Thank you," she said. She gave him a faint smile and left. Bewildered, Remus tore open the envelope.

_Remus, _said the letter inside.

_If you haven't already realised, I've gone to work. I've sent a letter to Matt – you've arranged to meet him for breakfast at the Leaky Cauldron at nine-thirty. Hopefully Mum's woken you up in time and brought you a change of clothes. _

_Dumbledore also stopped by. He needs you at the Ministry by twelve to meet with Petunia – I don't know her last name, he didn't say it, but he said you'd know who he was talking about. _

_I'll be at the Ministry until about one, so if you're done with your meeting, we could meet for lunch? Let Mum know – I'll be seeing her later this morning, apparently – and she can pass the message on to me. _

_Dora._

Several things made a lot more sense now than they had a few minutes ago. Remus glanced at the clock on the bedside table – it was twenty past, which still gave him plenty of time – and dug through the clothes Andy had left him.

There was a pair of baggy jeans that must have belonged to Ted years ago – the man he'd seen briefly last night was a little too round around the middle to fit these anymore – and there was a faded pair of navy robes that were probably Ted's as well. The last item was a t-shirt and it had a note pinned to it.

_Remus,_

_I'd meant to give this to you for your birthday but I misplaced it. _Personally, Remus thought that the new robes and the pillow-sized slab of chocolate had been more than enough for his birthday last month – her presents and those from Sirius and Harry were more than Remus had received for all of his birthdays combined since his parents' deaths. _Better late than never, though, eh?_

With a growing sense of trepidation, Remus unfolded it.

* * *

There were a few streaks of grey in her mousy hair, but otherwise, Andy hadn't changed at all. She was still tall and she still had the same high cheekbones, and the same grey eyes.

She still carried herself like a pureblood- and when she tripped over the doorway, Narcissa saw she was just as clumsy as ever. The only new thing about her, in fact, were the faint laugh lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth. She didn't look in Narcissa's direction once, though Narcissa knew Andy must know she was there.

A young woman - her daughter Nymphadora, if Narcissa was correct – followed her in. She looked a lot like Andy, with her grey eyes and heart shaped face, but her hair was fair like Narcissa remembered Ted's being and Nymphadora didn't seem to have inherited Andy's height. Just as Andy had, Nymphadora stumbled on her way inside.

"And yet they'll swear until they're blue in the face that they're nothing like each other," remarked Ted Tonks as he strode through the door – without tripping – after his wife and daughter. His belly was rounder than it had been when Narcissa last saw him and his hair was a bit thinner but his mellow voice and awful dress sense was the same; he was wearing a yellow and black spotted tie and blue and white striped work shirt and maroon pants. His daughter seemed to have inherited his dress sense; she was wearing a red tartan skirt, black stockings, high boots covered in heavy buckles and a bright yellow t-shirt with a pink giraffe on it.

"Blue in the face, eh?" Nymphadora asked, smirking at her father. "Like this-?"

"Nymphadora, no!" Andy snapped, rounding on the pair of them. Ted and Nymphadora exchanged looks and – wisely, in Narcissa's opinion – didn't argue and didn't do whatever they'd been planning. "Madam Umbridge," Andy said, giving the Umbridge woman a friendly smile. She offered her hand. "Andromeda Tonks. This is my husband Ted and my daughter-"

"Tonks," Nymphadora said, beating her mother to it.

"-Nymphadora," Andy sighed and Narcissa wasn't sure whether she was finishing the introduction or addressing her daughter.

"Wonderful," Umbridge said in her girlish voice. "Take a seat please, Mrs Tonks." To Narcissa's complete and utter shock, Andy sat down next to her instead of in any of the other ten seats that were available.

"Narcissa," Andy said, politely. "Lucius." Lucius - two seats away from Narcissa, next to Hydrus – nodded stiffly in her direction. "And how are you, boys?" Hydrus curled his lip and looked at his father, who was wearing the exact same expression. Draco's face matched their, at least until Narcissa nudged him and gave him a pointed look. The malice slipped off easily and – apparently realising he was allowed to look at a blood traitor without being disgusted – Draco replaced it with a thoughtful look.

"Well, thank you," he said in a cool but polite voice.

"We're _what_?!" Nymphadora exclaimed on Andy's other side. Ted said something to her in a low voice but Narcissa distinctly heard the words 'adopt' and 'Potter'. Umbridge gave them both disparaging looks and straightened her pink robes.

Augusta Longbottom arrived shortly after and sat down on Ted's other side with a cheerful greeting. She a very tall woman and bony, but by no means frail. She had worse taste than Ted and Nymphadora, with her vulture hat and glossy red handbag. Her grandson, a chubby, round faced boy with large brown eyes and blond hair shuffled in after her.

Neville was his name – Narcissa couldn't forget it if she tried, not when that little boy was the one her sister had more or less orphaned. Augusta hadn't forgotten either; while she spoke to Ted and Nymphadora, she completely ignored Andy, and she didn't even glance in Narcissa's direction. Narcissa couldn't really blame her.

"Mother, I'm bored," Draco said, nudging her.

"It's not proper to say that," Hydrus hissed and Draco glanced at him.

"I wasn't talking to you, so why don't you mind-"

"-Auror like my Frank!" Augusta said loudly. "You must be bright, then, my dear!"

"Er..." Nymphadora stammered, at little Neville gasped as her hair turned a bright pink. "I do all right, I s'pose-"

"Tonks?" A young man carrying a tea tray paused and stared at Nymphadora, though all three Tonkses had turned around.

"Wotcher, Alfred," Nymphadora said nervously. The man – Alfred – set the tea tray down next to Umbridge and scooped Nymphadora into a tight hug. "How are you?"

"Really good, thanks," Alfred said enthusiastically. "You?"

"Hem hem," Umbridge said, and Alfred grimaced and went to stand beside her. Umbridge scribbled something onto a piece of parchment on a clipboard and Alfred flushed.

"There you are, my dear," Dumbledore said, escorting a hunched, old woman into the room. Narcissa had never seen the woman before, but she thought she was about ninety. The woman looked at the empty seat next to Neville, and the empty seat beside Lucius. Then, she sat down beside Lucius, looking self-important.

Amelia Bones, Rufus Scrimgeour and Thomas Rattler made their way inside too, and sat down; Bones claimed the seat next to Neville, with Rattler beside her, while Scrimgeour joined Dumbledore on the old woman's other side.

"Are we all here?" Umbridge asked, smiling around at them all.

"... stupid. It's not like they can say anything if they're not," Draco muttered, and Narcissa gave him a warning look. Thankfully, however, Umbridge didn't seem to have heard, though Nymphadora sniggered on Andy's other side.

"We are missing one-" Dumbledore began, but Umbridge cut him off with a prim, "Good. Let's start, then. Mrs Pettigrew, your case?"

_Surely not..._ Narcissa took another look at the alleged Mrs Pettigrew. With her pale, beady eyes and pointy nose she _could_ be Peter Pettigrew's mother... but Pettigrew's mother was younger than Narcissa's mother - who'd turned sixty late last year - and the woman before her looked ninety.

"What?" the woman – Mrs Pettigrew said in a squeaky voice, lifting a clawed hand to her ear. "Speak up, woman!"

"I invited you to present your case," Umbridge said, sending Pettigrew a look of dislike.

"Oh," Mrs Pettigrew said, getting to her feet again. "Well, I'm sure you all remember that I lost my Peter-" So it was her. Peter Pettigrew's mother. Narcissa thought her grief for 'losing' her son must have caused her to age so badly. Lucius would say it was bad genetics – she was muggleborn, if Narcissa remembered correctly. As if on cue, Lucius caught Narcissa's eye. "-to that monster, Sirius Black. I think it seems fair that I get his son, to replace the one he stole from me."

Lucius coughed and Narcissa rolled her eyes at him, but she too was finding it difficult to keep an impassive expression on her face. She had little patience for dramatics as it was, and even littler patience for those that she knew to be falsely grounded.

"My apologies," Lucius said, when everyone – except for Pettigrew, who had ploughed right ahead with her speech – turned to look at him. "I swallowed something."

_Yes, _Narcissa thought. _A laugh._ Despite not knowing what his father had found amusing, Hydrus recognised the slightly mocking undertone to his father's drawl, and sniggered.

"-no doubt of my parenting abilities," Mrs Pettigrew said, sniffing. "My Peter is a testament to my ability as a mother-" This time, Narcissa snorted; it seemed, then, that Mrs Pettigrew was a rather awful mother. She'd managed to raise a son who'd got two of his friends killed, framed a third, orphaned a toddler and plotted to kill the fourth. He'd also faked his own death, spent years living as a Weasley pet – the thought of the Weasleys wasn't quite as malicious as it might have been, now that Draco would probably end up living with them himself – only to run away from _them _and come to hide as a pet in Narcissa's own home.

She'd be a hypocrite if she judged Pettigrew for playing both sides until he was confident that he'd survive – she was doing, or planning to do the same thing now – but she, at least, had her family in mind. Pettigrew had thought only of himself, and quite frankly, she didn't think he was worth more than the Potters and Sirius had been.

She didn't care much for Lupin – something about him had always seemed off to her, but James Potter had been an Auror and possessed no small amount of magical talent, even if he was a bloodtraitor. And, as filthy as her blood had been, Lily Potter had known how to heal and that was an admirable skill, no matter who possessed it; it was possible that Narcissa found it even more admirable because she herself possessed so little skill in that area.

Sirius, of course, was a blood traitor – and had betrayed her own family – but he, like James, had been an Auror and a rather gifted wizard. If Bella had succeeded in 'pruning the family tree', as she'd so loved to put it, Narcissa could have accepted that. Encouraged it, even, at least until recently – her opinions of Sirius were rather mixed at the moment, particularly because he was (or had been) the guardian of the boy that so many of her hopes rested on. Family problems should stay in - and be dealt with by - the family. And Pettigrew, no matter how close he'd been with Sirius, was not family. He had no right to frame a Black.

"-brave Gryffindor!" Mrs Pettigrew let out a loud sob and a sombre Dumbledore rubbed her shoulder when she sat down. Narcissa rolled her eyes.

* * *

Tonks checked her Sidekick and groaned; they'd only been in this stuffy little office for twenty minutes and it already felt like twenty hours. After Mrs Pettigrew had said her part, the Malfoys had stood. Lucius had prattled on about good bloodlines and how he and his wife would provide Harry with a proper upbringing. Narcissa had brought up the money side of things. Tonks thought it sounded awfully like she was trying to bribe Umbridge, and the sour looks on Scrimgeour and Bones' faces told Tonks they thought the same. Tonks was relieved at that; if Scrimgeour and Bones didn't like the Malfoys, it was unlikely Harry would end up with them.

Then it had been Mum's turn and she and Dad had talked briefly about being able to provide a loving home for Harry and start to set right some of the things Mum's estranged cousin had done. Tonks had just been glad they didn't want her to talk; she'd only just heard about this mental adoption plan of Mum's and was still trying to process it. Augusta Longbottom was the fourth and final one; she said something about strong wards and having both Harry and Neville in the same place, a strong family history and little Neville had said he'd like a friend.

Umbridge was quiet for a bit – she was scribbling things down and Alfred was reading over her shoulder, looking thoughtful – and Scrimgeour and Dumbledore were talking quietly. Then, Umbridge looked up and announced it was question time, and things went rapidly downhill from there.

It started off innocently enough; Bones asked – and had to repeat her question twice – if Mrs Pettigrew honestly thought she could handle living with a young boy again.

"I'm be more concerned about her ability to financially support the boy," Narcissa said. "And her motives, of course."

"Oh, like yours are pure," Mum muttered, and Tonks glanced at her, surprised.

"I want what's best for the boy," Narcissa said, arching an eyebrow, and oddly, Tonks believed her.

"He'd grow up in a safe environment," Lucius hastened to add. "The Manor is secured against intruders-"

"It's what's_ inside_ the Manor that the boy would need protection from," Augusta said. Unlike Mum, she didn't bother to lower her voice.

"Are you suggesting we'd harm the boy?" Lucius asked silkily, while Narcissa bristled. "I'd be careful what you imply, Madam Longbottom, particularly when you were in St Mungo's with your half-drowned grandson not three months ago..."

"You only know that because yours was sick too," Augusta snapped. "Rita Skeeter wrote a rather excellent piece on possible causes-"

"I wouldn't discriminate like these two-" Mrs Pettigrew pointed at both Lucius and Augusta, making Umbridge's wide mouth stretch into a smile. Tonks wondered why she was letting this go on and reached the conclusion that either all of her questions were being answered in the bickering, or that it was like the Auror aptitude testing. "- if I raised the boy."

"Implying that you do the rest of the time?" Narcissa was quick to ask, and Mrs Pettigrew blushed.

"Young Potter would have ready-made playmates in Hydrus and Draco," Lucius added smoothly.

"Or in Neville," Augusta said. Neville blushed.

"Nymphadora will make a wonderful older sister," Mum said, and Tonks shot her a look; she was pretty sure she'd just beat him at chess and buy him sweets and teach him how to hex people he didn't like.

"He'll benefit more from the company of children his own age," Lucius said, gesturing to Tonks' cousins.

"And we'll do our best not to play favourites," Narcissa added. Scrimgeour and Bones both snorted at that – Rattler was frowning - and Lucius shot his wife a look. Tonks wondered if Narcissa realised that it was twice now she'd brought up things – money and favouritism – that were likely to turn Scrimgeour, Rattler and Bones against her.

"Every child needs a role model," Dad said, surprising Dora; she'd imagined this was Mum's idea, but maybe Dad wanted Harry too. He must have, otherwise he'd have left Mum to do the talking. "And who better than an Auror trainee?"

"Yes, encourage the boy to risk his life," Lucius said scathingly. "There's a good way to keep him safe."

"And you think he'll be safer with you-"

"Now, Andy," Narcissa said, "you know those charges didn't stick." Tonks stared at her Aunt again; something was definitely up. She almost wondered if Narcissa didn't want Harry, because she seemed to be reminding Bones, Rattler and Scrimgeour of a lot of reasons _not_ to let Harry go to the Malfoys. That was stupid, though. According to Mum, Narcissa didn't have an independent bone in her body, so if Lucius wanted Harry – which he certainly appeared to – then Narcissa would too. Maybe Mum had been wrong when she said Narcissa was smart.

"Doesn't mean they weren't true!" Augusta said. "Everyone here knows that you and your sister-"

"I want the boy!" Mrs Pettigrew said shrilly. "He's mine by right – it's only fair. I lost my son to Black and now he can lose his son to me-"

"It's Harry _Potter_ not Harry _Black_, you daft-" Mum began, but was cut off; the door opened to reveal two people, one of whom was the last person Tonks could have imagined showing up to show his interest in adopting Harry Potter.

It was Snape, her old Potions teacher. He looked exactly the same, down to the greasy hair, hooked nose, curled lip and look of complete and utter disdain. The woman with him was tall and thin and blond and Tonks was positive she'd never seen her before. Was she Snape's wife, perhaps? Snape didn't wear a wedding ring, but the woman did.

_Snape's wife... now _there's _a disturbing thought._ She wasn't the only one confused by the woman's presence; Alfred had a slightly sick expression on his face and Tonks wondered if he'd reached the wife conclusion too. Everyone else – except for Dumbledore - looked confused, but it was Lucius' puzzled expression that really threw Tonks; the woman couldn't be Snape's wife, or Lucius would have recognised her. Narcissa just looked thoughtful.

"Ah!" Dumbledore said, looking delighted. "You didn't encounter any difficulties getting here, I take it?"

"None," Snape said, and glanced at the woman. "Sit."

But she didn't sit. Instead, she pulled a folded piece of paper out of her handbag and offered it to Dumbledore, who read it quickly and nodded before passing it onto Umbridge. Umbridge's face slowly turned red, and Alfred backed away from her.

"What is this?!" Umbridge spat, looking furious.

"Those would be forms confirming my custody of the boy," the woman said, pursing her lips. Tonks wondered exactly who this woman was. "I believe they're all in order?"

"They're muggle-"

"Dolores, you know as well as I that we respect muggle legalities in our own legal system," Dumbledore said pleasantly. Amelia and Rattler both nodded – warily though, as if they weren't sure what they were agreeing to - and Scrimgeour watched the proceedings with narrowed eyes.

"And you- you're her?" Umbridge asked finally. She put the papers down on her desktop and smoothed out the creases with her stubby fingers. "You're Petunia Dursel?"

"Dursley," the woman replied stiffly. Tonks wondered if this was the woman that Remus was supposed to meet later.

"A muggle?" Lucius asked, his lip curling. The cousin sitting closest to him mimicked his expression, while Narcissa and Tonks' other cousin looked impassive.

"So I've been told," Mrs Dursley replied haughtily, and Dad grinned. Mrs Dursley seemed to think he was mocking her, however, and sent an angry, embarrassed look in his direction. Then, she turned her pale eyes back to Umbridge. "Do you have any other foolish questions, or can I see my nephew now?"

Dumbledore's eyes glinted and he was definitely trying to hide a smile in his long beard. Umbridge read the paperwork again and then, with a look of loathing – which was returned – at Mrs Dursley, threw her hands up.

"Fine," she said crossly. "This meeting is postponed until two o'clock." She snatched up the document and passed it to a startled Rattler. "Check that this _is _all in order, won't you? I'd hate for Mrs Dursley not to get her nephew back."

_Liar, _Tonks thought. Umbridge probably wanted the documents to be checked to see if there was any way to_stop _Harry going back to Mrs Dursley. With a wide, toady smile at the woman in question, Umbridge flounced over to the door. "After you, dear."

"Thank you," Mrs Dursley replied, pursing her lips. Her narrowed eyes found Snape. "Snape, are you coming?"

And then, Tonks watched in complete bemusement and shock as Snape – a man who scared Hogwarts students for a living, and was friends with the likes of the Malfoys – stood and swept out after her - a middle aged muggle woman - with a look of utter loathing on his face.

_What in the name of Merlin's pointy purple hat just happened?_

* * *

"Aunt Petunia?" Harry asked, his head snapping up so quickly that she thought his glasses might slip off. His expression went from shocked to confused to worried to blank before she could even begin to think why he'd looked that way. "What are you doing here?"

"Hello to you too," she sniffed. He stood and offered her the chair he'd been sitting on, before dragging three other, smaller chairs over from the corner. She realised that Snape and the pink woman had come in with her.

"Hi," he said, looking uncertain again.

"Potter," Snape said and the pink woman said in synchronisation.

"Are you an Auror?" Harry asked, looking at Snape.

"You know who I am," Snape snapped.

"I don't think we've met, sir," Harry said earnestly, with a sideways look at the pink woman. "We don't get many visitors, you see, because we've been in hiding... Did we maybe meet when I was a baby...? Does that mean you knew my parents?" It was on the tip of Petunia's tongue to tell him not to ask so many questions, but then she remembered it wasn't her problem. She didn't have anything to hide - he probably knew more about his world and his parents than she did now - and his behaviour didn't reflect badly on her anymore. It was obviously puzzling Snape, but Petunia didn't care if the boy made him uncomfortable.

"He was a friend of your mother's," Petunia said. She surprised herself by offering the information, but it felt better than she'd expected to share something like that with someone - Lily wasn't a tabooed topic here - and she enjoyed the way Snape's expression soured.

"Really?" Harry asked, holding Snape's gaze. Snape was the first to look away, and Petunia felt a stab of pity for the man; she'd never been able to look into those eyes for long either. Not without seeing Lily, and wondering if her little sister condemned her for the way she and Vernon had treated the boy. "You'll have to tell me about her sometime, sir." Snape said nothing. Harry didn't look dissuaded by the lack of response, or the vicious glare he was receiving; if anything, he seemed amused.

He looked well, Petunia was upset to see. He was still thin but not unhealthily so, and he'd grown several inches. She thought he might be taller than Dudley now. It was upsetting because, in a year in the care of a man who was supposedly evil and murderous, he was looking a lot better than he'd ever looked when he'd been hers to care for. She knew she hadn't been the best guardian, hadn't fed him enough, loved him enough - at all, really - but seeing him like this... it was like having every mistake she'd ever made with him, thrown back in her face.

She and Vernon had done everything they could to make his life miserable and here he was, spiting them with his happiness. It annoyed Petunia a bit, but she also felt something suspiciously warm kindle in her chest.

"Is Padfoot- I mean, is he – Sirius - okay?"

"How am I supposed to know?" she asked.

"Dunno," he muttered. "Sorry." He stared at his hands for a long time, his face unreadable again. When he did look up, Petunia couldn't meet his eyes properly; she kept her gaze fixed on his nose and hoped he wouldn't notice. "So have you- I mean, are you here to take me away?" It didn't escape her notice that the boy had said 'away' and not said 'home', or that his jaw was set, the way she'd seen his father's set once.

"I think it's best if I handle him alone," Petunia said. The pink woman frowned, but didn't argue. She marched out and Snape swept after her. The door closed, and Harry and Petunia sat in silence.

"Well?" Harry asked, not impolitely.

"No."

"You- you aren't-"

"I'm not taking you home with me," Petunia told him, and Harry looked surprised, upset and relieved all at once. _Relieved. Were we really that terrible to you? _It wasn't really a question that needed an answer.

Harry took another few moments to process her response and then said, "So why are you here?"

"It wasn't a voluntary visit, I assure you," she said. Some of her frustration with this whole custody mess - and Dumbledore and Snape's need to involve her - leaked into her tone.

"Sorry," Harry said, looking as if he genuinely meant it.

"It's fine," Petunia said, surprising herself. She didn't entirely mean it – it wasn't fine – and while she liked to blame the boy – and Lily – for this, it didn't seem right now that Harry was apologising. He looked surprised that she'd said it too, and they lapsed into silence. "How have you... been?" she asked eventually.

She saw Harry's eyes flash - the way Lily's had used to before she said something scathing and sarcastic – and braced herself. She could almost see him swallowing whatever he'd been about to say and suspected it was something along the lines of 'what do you think?'.

"Fine," he said, a little stiffly.

"Really?" Petunia pressed, not sure why she was picking now to take an interest in her nephew's feelings. Perhaps it was because, in only a few short hours, she'd never see him again. She'd be his aunt by blood and no more or less.

"Sure," he said, as if daring her to challenge that. She supposed she'd given up the right to get honest answers to personal questions years ago, when she'd set him up to live in the cupboard under the stairs.

"Were you happy?" she asked.

"Where?" he asked cautiously. His eyes were wary, curious, but to Petunia they were a sentencing from Lily.

_With us._ That didn't need answering either, and Petunia didn't think she wanted to hear the answer he'd give. She hadn't thought seeing the boy again would be this hard, would cause her to question herself. She'd thought she'd made her peace with her decisions long ago.

"With him. Your godfather."

"Oh," Harry said. One side of his mouth quirked up and his eyes darted around his comfortable little office-prison, but they weren't really focusing on anything.

"Well?" she said, a little harshly. Harry actually smiled at that, seemingly comforted by the return to her usual, impatient, irritated attitude toward him.

"Yeah," he said. "I was happy."

Petunia nodded and stood, clutching her handbag to her chest. She couldn't secure her freedom from this mess until everyone agreed that the forms she'd passed in were legitimate. She had a few hours to kill, but she wasn't going to do it here. She doubted Harry wanted her there and while she wasn't openly hostile anymore, her mixed up feelings hadn't magically changed to make her love him and want to protect him.

She took one last look at her sister's son, and left.

* * *

Petunia Dursley's handbag contained an embroidered handkerchief, perfume, a purse full of muggle money and cards, a copy of the paperwork she'd given to Umbridge earlier, a small mirror, a notepad, keys on a Grunnings keyring, a folded article from a gossip magazine and a pencil with the name 'Dudley Dursley' scratched into the wood.

"Your keys and the pencil have to stay here," Rufus said.

"But-"

"They're potential weapons, madam," he said and she sighed but didn't replace them in her handbag. "Professor Dumbledore will go in-"

"No," she said. Albus wasn't surprised. "I've had enough of your meddling. I'm going to go in alone, say my piece and then I'm going home." Albus exchanged a look with Rufus who shrugged and pulled open the door.

"In you go, then. If he tries to kill you, call out."

Petunia gave him a dirty look – she obviously didn't appreciate his morbid humour – and strode into the cell, handbag in hand.

* * *

"I can't find anything wrong with it," Giovanna Zabini announced. She was Lucius' solicitor and he'd insisted on inviting her in to read over Mrs Dursley's forms with Bones and Rattler. Narcissa thought it was unnecessary, but then, she didn't want the Potter boy, and she didn't particularly like Zabini.

"Neither," said Podmore, who'd been invited up by Bones. Narcissa wondered whether he'd actually read it; it seemed to her that he'd spent most of his time ogling Zabini, who couldn't be described as anything less than stunning.

"Nothing?" asked Umbridge sourly. Zabini shook her head looking apologetic, but Narcissa doubted it was sincere. Zabini had worked for – or with – Lucius for about ten years now and the only time Narcissa had ever known the woman to be sincere was when she was insulting someone, or citing a law.

"Excellent," Dumbledore said jovially. "Shall I fetch Petunia?"

"Go," Umbridge said, and Dumbledore stood up, beaming, and strode out.

"Let's get the boys," Lucius said, looking defeated. Narcissa took his hand and they followed Dumbledore out. "Where was your sister taking them?"

"To get lunch," Narcissa said; both had held out until one, but then Draco had started to whine about being bored and hungry and Andy – who'd just stood up to get her own lunch – had offered to take them too. Narcissa rather wished she could have joined them; it certainly would have been more enjoyable than spending an extra hour in a room with Umbridge, while Zabini, Podmore and the D.M.L.E. staff bickered over laws.

"I'm awfully sorry I couldn't be of more help to you, Lucius," Zabini said, and Narcissa rolled her eyes as the other woman caught up. "Harry Potter would be lucky to live with you and your sons."

"What would you know about children and their wellbeing?" Narcissa laughed.

"My son-"

"_You_ have a son?" Narcissa asked, shocked.

"Blaise. He's a few months younger than your eldest," Zabini said primly. "And I know enough about children to know that he's better off with his father."

"Impressive," Narcissa said archly, and then blinked. Her own shock was mirrored on Lucius' face, but he hid it better. "His father's _alive_?"

"Obviously, or Blaise wouldn't be living with him, would he?"

"You know that's not what I meant," Narcissa sighed.

"Do I?" Zabini drawled. "How fascinating; I was rather certain I had no idea at all."

"Then perhaps you're not as clever as you like to think," Narcissa said, pleased she'd managed to twist the conversation.

"No," Zabini said. "I am." Narcissa snorted but didn't say anything else; there was no safe reply to that statement, and she suspected Zabini knew it.

"Mother!" It was Hydrus and he sounded profoundly relieved. Andy and Ted both looked rather irate, and Narcissa suspected Hydrus had been throwing Lucius' insults at them over lunch. "Father!"

"I'll leave you to your children," Zabini said, with a condescending smile; she'd made it clear to Narcissa on several occasions that she didn't think mothering was a suitable way for a woman to spend her time. "_I _have to get back to my _job._" And there it was. Narcissa shot a venomous look in the other woman's direction as she kissed Lucius on both cheeks and strode off, her heels clacking on the floor.

Hydrus was talking loudly to Lucius about what a horror lunch had been. Draco, though, wasn't with him; he was talking shyly but happily with Nymphadora and Lupin - who she suspected was here to help with Potter - about Merlin knew what. Perhaps it was Lupin's ridiculous t-shirt; Narcissa had only ever seen him in jumpers and shabby robes, so she couldn't for the life of her imagine what had possessed him to wear a 'Stumpp Silver' shirt.

It was a ghastly purple colour with a savage looking werewolf on the front and a list of concert dates and places - Stumpp Silver was a heavy metal band. Lupin appeared to be trying to hide it by pulling the sides of his robes together, but was having little luck. Narcissa's lip curled.

"If you're out here," Ted said, "then I take it Potter's going back to his aunt?"

"The muggle," Lucius said disdainfully.

"I can think of worse places for him to go," Nymhadora said, with a pointed glare at Lucius.

"As can I," Lucius replied, looking at Lupin, who flushed and looked down. Narcissa thought that was odd; last time Lucius had insulted Lupin, the other man had been furious and caused quite a scene in the Leaky Cauldron. Lupin only looked resigned, however.

Nymphadora, on the other hand, swelled impressively - and literally. She grew several inches - Lucius was looking up at her - and her hair turned a bright, tomato red. Draco slipped away from her and to Narcissa's side and she put a hand on his shoulder and thought absently that she'd need to encourage bravery.

"How dare-" Nymphadora began loudly, despite Lupin's attempts to tell her it was fine.

"Nymphadora!" a voice shouted and it was too deep to be Andy and too gravelly to be Ted's; besides, both Tonkses had looked content to let Lucius be shouted at by their daughter. Narcissa supposed it was payback for Hydrus' behaviour at lunch.

"Wait, Mad-Eye," she snapped, and Draco shrank back again as the old Auror limped around the corner. "I'm busy trying to beat manners into my idiotic, conceited git of an uncle. You," she added, turning back to Lucius who didn't seem to know whether to be insulted or amused.

"I need you downstairs," Moody said, grabbing her robes. "Now." Narcissa didn't know Auror Moody well enough to tell his mood from his tone, but something made Nymphadora straighten.

"Fine," she said, shrugging him off. Moody gestured for her to follow, but she didn't. Instead, she drew her wand and said, "_Parva Digitum_," before any of them could respond. Lucius seemed unaffected. Then a funny expression crossed his face and he fell over. Hydrus and Draco gasped and glared at their cousin. Narcissa aimed her wand at her niece and Lupin's was aimed – defensively – at Narcissa, because Nymphadora had lowered hers. Narcissa met Lupin's eyes and they both lowered their wands.

"I'll have you stripped of you position in the Auror Program!" Lucius snarled, his face a mottled red. He tried to stand, failed, and gave up. Andy sniggered and Narcissa shot her an exasperated look. "'Family' or not, so help me-"

"Report me, then," she snapped. "But it's my job to defend members of the public against assault - of the physical and verbal kind," she added sharply. "So I think you'll find my actions are perfectly justified, if unorthodox." Lucius opened his mouth. "I'd just shut up if I were you," Nymphadora advised. "You've already threatened an Auror which is an offence I could arrest you for-"

"You're a trainee," Lucius drawled from the floor. Narcissa wondered what it was her niece had done to him, but he didn't seem to be in pain. "You need another Auror present-"

"Convenient, aren't I?" Moody growled, making Narcissa jump; she'd forgotten about him. And, from the way Lucius paled, he had too. "The charges won't stick, laddie, but it'll be damned inconvenient for you and we _are_on our way down to the holding cells now..." Lucius shut his mouth, but his eyes were as sharp as swords. "That's what I thought. Lets go, Ny-"

"If you finish that, I'll hex you too," Nymphadora warned. Moody chuckled and glanced at something golden before paling and jerking his head in the direction of the lift.

Lupin hesitated and then hurried after them with a worried, "Mad-Eye, did you say holding cells?!"

"How dare she hex Father!" Draco said angrily, glaring at his cousin's back. Hydrus looked upset too, and was trying to help Lucius up, but Lucius just wobbled and sank back down again. "Stupid blood trai-"

"Don't finish that sentence if you know what's good for you," Narcissa warned him and Draco gave her a sullen look. Uncomfortably aware of Andy's stunned expression, Narcissa said, "It was a nasty thing to do, but it wasn't because your aunt married a muggleborn."

"You mean a mudblood," Hydrus corrected, making Draco scowl.

"Why can _he_ say mudblo-"

"We'll discuss it at home," Narcissa said, already dreading that particular conversation. Hydrus gave his brother a gleeful look and Draco glowered back. Ignoring her sister's sniggers and the amused smile on Ted's face, Narcissa turned her attention to her husband and joined his efforts in trying to undo whatever it was her wayward niece had done.

* * *

Tonks, Remus and Mad-Eye stepped out of the lift to the floor that contained the holding cells to find Scrimgeour, Shacklebolt, Ben, McDuff, Wright, Patel, Robards, McKinnon and a Healer in lime green crowding the hall. She could hear a man shouting, and a loud thumping noise. She could also feel the Dementors – and see them, hovering nearby – but she tried to ignore them.

"They're all you could find?" Scrimgeour asked, either not realising or not caring that Remus wasn't an Auror.

"They're it," Mad-Eye said.

"What's going on?" Tonks asked, sidling over to McKinnon and Ben.

"Sirius has... well, we're not sure," McKinnon said, her eyes fixed on the door at the end of the corridor. "Gone mad, Scrimgeour thinks; he's shouting for the Aurors and banging on the door. Has been for a few hours, apparently." That certainly explained the noise.

"-sure what state he's in," Scrimgeour said, and Tonks started listening to him instead. "We didn't want to risk rushing in, which is why you've all been called down here." Wright and Patel exchanged nervous whispers but Tonks couldn't hear words. "You're not to attack Black unless he attacks you first."

"Hear that?" Robards muttered, and McKinnon gave him a stony look. Tonks wondered what _that_ was about.

"If he's safe, then Shacklebolt, Moody and I will see what he wants... if not... Black is not, under any circumstances to leave that cell-"

"-want to talk!" Tonks heard Sirius shout. "I'm not going to bloody attack you, so just come here and-"

"We'll go first," Scrimgeour said, gesturing to himself, Shacklebolt, Mad-Eye and McDuff. "You can watch the trainees, keep them out of trouble." Mad-Eye nodded. "Them too," Scrimgeour added, nodding at Remus and the Healer.

They moved forward in a pack, wands drawn and ready, with three Dementors at the very front. Tonks had grown so that she could see over everyone's shoulders. It made her a bit of a target, but at least she'd know what was going on.

"Step away from the door, Black," Scrimgeour said, and through the small, barred window, Tonks saw Sirius move away. He was grinning like mad and she felt a prickle of unease. Scrimgeour tapped the door with his wand and opened it, and the other three Aurors filed in, forming a half circle around Sirius, who didn't seem perturbed in the least. He looked like he might explode from happiness, which was odd, given his situation and the closeness of the Dementors.

"What do you want?" McDuff asked suspiciously.

Sirius just grinned and held up a piece of paper.


	47. Harry's New Home

"Anything?" Rufus barked, and Amelia shook her head. Beside her, Thomas looked ill.

"It's all legal, sir," Podmore said, looking up from a massive volume on wizarding law. Rufus growled. Of course it was all legal; Black had Auror training and was unhelpfully knowledgeable when it came to the law. He was also bold enough to point it out.

"Damn it!" he huffed, stalking into the next office, where Dumbledore and Snape were questioning Mrs Dursley. The contents of her handbag were spread out on the table again, but hadn't changed. She still had a copy of the forms she'd given to Umbridge earlier, and while Rufus thought the pile of forms looked smaller - as if she'd disposed of a few sheets of paper - it was only speculation, because neither he or Dumbledore had checked the damn things to make sure they were what they'd assumed.

Zabini was beside Dumbledore - Rufus and the rest of the Ministry hated the woman, but she was good at what she did and desperate times called for desperate measures - rereading the forms that secured Mrs Dursley's custody of the boy. If they could find anything wrong with those, then the second set of forms would be nullified.

"Zabini?" he asked and the woman looked up from under long eyelashes.

"It's all in order," she said, shrugging. "These weren't created with or altered by magic and they've been filled out correctly. Mrs Dursley's custody of the boy is unquestionable." And that meant she was able to pass him over to anyone she liked. Which she'd done. Rufus tore the door open and stalked out into the corridor.

"You!" he said, startling Hemsley's trainee. "Get me someone from Muggle Relations!" He'd need to get in contact with the solicitor who'd witnesses the signing of the second set of forms and see if they could prove Black or Mrs Dursley had obtained his help illegally. The trainee scurried off and Rufus walked into Amelia's office, where young Potter was still being housed.

Umbridge and another witch from the Department of Management and Control of Magical Children were with him, but if the expression on their faces was anything to go by, they hadn't managed to find anything condemning about Black's guardianship abilities. Oh, there was plenty of speculation and plenty of crimes the man was _accused_ of, but as Black had pointed out a few hours earlier, he hadn't been found guilty of anything because he hadn't had a trial.

"What can you tell me about the night you were taken from your relatives?" Scoote asked, peering at the boy from over her clipboard.

Potter tore his eyes away from Rufus, who he'd been watching from the moment he set foot in the office. No one had told him what was happening, but he'd have to be thick not to realise that something was afoot.

"Do you know Polkiss?" Rufus asked, before the boy answered Scoote. Potter's face closed over completely and Rufus wondered what the name meant to the boy. "Potter?"

"Yeah, I know him," Potter said warily. "Why?"

"How do you know him?"

"He's a friend of my cousin's," Potter said reluctantly. "Piers." He didn't seem to think much of this Piers, if his wrinkled nose was any indication. "We went to the same school."

"Did you know Piers' father?" Rufus said.

"A bit," Potter said, shrugging. "He gave Dudley a ball and a pen once, from his work, I think." Potter thought for a moment. "He's an accountant... No, a solicitor."

"We know that," Umbridge snapped, and Rufus gave her a reprimanding look.

"I'm just answering the question," Potter told her, frowning. Then he paused. "Wait," he said, glancing at Umbridge. "How do _you_ know Mr Polkiss is a solicitor?" The colour drained from Umbridge's flabby face and Rufus smothered a groan.

"Auror Scrimgeour just said-"

"I know what he said," Potter told her, still frowning. "But he didn't say anything about Mr Polkiss until now, and he didn't mention that he's a solicitor."

"And?" Umbridge asked, trying to cover up her blunder with bravado.

"And you've been in here with me and that Healer and Mrs Scoote-"

"Wendy's fine, dear," Scoote said, sitting very still.

"-for hours... which means you knew before Mr Scrimgeour came in here." He turned his frown on Rufus. "What's going on?"

"Thank you very much for that, Umbridge," Rufus said irritably, and Umbridge shrank into her chair; the woman had high career aspirations and she certainly wasn't going to reach them if she kept upsetting Rufus. "Look, Potter-"

"Scrimgeour!" Moody barked, and the door flung open. Rufus' wand was up in an instant, and he saw Potter's hand jump to his pocket, even though his wand had been confiscated days ago. "Scared you, did I?" Moody growled, looking curiously at Potter. "Constant vigilance!" Rufus knew it was coming, but it startled the other three. After he'd recovered, though, Potter laughed to himself. "He's getting impatient," Moody said, glancing at the boy with one eye. As Moody had been down in the cells with Robards and Black for the last few hours, it wasn't hard to guess who 'he' was.

"And?" Rufus asked irritably, stuffing his wand into his robes.

"And I bloody hope you've found something, because time's up," Moody said grimly.

"What time?" Potter asked, looking between them.

"Nothing," Rufus replied stiffly, answering both Moody and Potter's questions. Moody's face fell.

"Guess there's no choice then," he growled, and limped out. Rufus could hear him shouting at every available Auror on the floor. "Right! Sort out a roster, you lot and _quickly_ because they're not to be left alone! We're going to need three people in there, armed and alert at all times and if you even _think_-"

"What time's up?" Potter asked again as the door clicked shut and muffled Moody's voice.

"Yours," Rufus said. "You've got a new home, Mr Potter."

* * *

"Through you go, lad," Moody said.

"But-" Harry stopped walking and looked up at Dumbledore, who was walking just behind him – the corridor was too narrow for them to walk side-by-side. "-but, sir, there's a wall there."

"It's not a wall, dear boy," Dumbledore said kindly. "Here." With some difficulty, the older man squeezed past Harry, Scrimgeour, Moody and a blond, eyepatched Auror called McDuff. Then, before Harry's eyes, Dumbledore strode through and vanished. Harry jumped back, alarmed. Then, Dumbledore's head popped back through, startling him again. "It's quite safe," he said. Harry walked forward and he was going to hit it, going to walk face first into- nothing. Just cold air. Harry glanced around. They were in a small chamber – they, being him, Dumbledore and Moody, who'd just come through – with a lift at one end. The lift was guarded by two cloaked men.

"It's cold down here," Harry offered, shoving his hands into his pockets. He felt the drawing Ginny had left behind – a dragon breathing fire on the Chudley Cannons crest - scrunch and hastily pulled his hands out again. He didn't want to damage it.

_Bet I would, too, _he thought. _I'm always ruining things – blowing up the training room at home. I bet Padfoot really is angry about that, but he just didn't want to say anything. He didn't want to hurt my feelings and now he's probably back in Azkaban. He'd have been better off without me-_

"Dementors," Moody grunted, waving at the cloaked men.

"Dementors?" Harry asked, stiffening; he'd never seen one before, but he'd certainly heard about them. He didn't move away, much as he wanted to, but he didn't take a step forward either. McDuff almost trampled him as she stepped through the fake wall.

_If there are Dementors around, though, then maybe Padfoot's nearby. Maybe... maybe they're taking me to see Padfoot?_ It didn't make any sense to Harry, but he couldn't think of anything better. _Maybe they want to tell Padfoot that I have a new home, rub it in a bit... I bet I'll absolutely hate it there. I bet I'll be stuck with someone like Mr Malfoy. And then Padfoot will hate me too. He'll get his trial and won't want me bac- he won't even get a trial, they'll just give him to the Dementors..._

Harry was struck by the sudden horrible thought that Padfoot – if he was indeed here – had been surrounded by Dementors for two days now. Padfoot was good at dealing with them – he'd survived Azkaban hadn't he? - but what if this time tipped him over the edge? _What if he's mad? What if he's sad, or hurt?_ _What if he's dea-_

"Harry?" Harry yelped when he felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up, gasping, at Dumbledore. "Are you all right, dear boy?"

"Fine," he panted, looking at the Dementors. _I bet it's them. They're making me think bad things. _"I'm fine, sorry."

Scrimgeour appeared through the wall behind him and didn't break his stride; he walked straight past the Dementors and got into the lift. Everyone followed, including Harry, who didn't want to be left alone down here. Someone screamed as he passed them.

He jumped again and glanced around, but no one else seemed to have heard anything, so he pretended he hadn't either. He thought he could still hear the voice screaming as the lift shuddered and dropped, but he ignored it. It was probably the Dementors again.

There were more Dementors downstairs, but there was also a door – many doors, actually – through which Harry could see Padfoot. His heart leapt and he must have made a noise because Dumbledore looked down at him. Harry grinned back.

Padfoot backed away from the little window in the door as soon as he spotted them and Harry was seized by momentary panic; what if Padfoot didn't want to see him? Most of it was the Dementors, but some of it was Harry's own worries.

Scrimgeour and Moody muttered something to each other and peered through the window, before opening the door. They both filed in and then Dumbledore put a firm hand on Harry's shoulder and they strode into the cell.

It was smallish – Harry thought he could walk from one side to the other in ten steps, and from front to back in fifteen – with two small beds in one corner, a curtained off area in another, and a table with five chairs (one on the far side, four on the door-side) in the middle of the room. Everything in the room was white.

Except for the Black.

Padfoot was grinning ear to ear at Harry and seemed to be struggling to stay seated on the bed – Moody's glare seemed to promise trouble if he didn't – so Harry solved that problem for him.

He shrugged Dumbledore's hand off – Dumbledore made a noise of protest - and launched himself across the room. Moody and McDuff tried to intercept him but he dodged them both – McDuff was easy, because her depth perception was a bit off - and flung himself onto Padfoot, who was knocked onto his back by the force of impact. Padfoot was shaking as he hugged Harry back and Harry felt something wet land on his face.

"Are you crying?" Harry asked, feeling as though he might cry himself.

"Yep," Padfoot choked, releasing Harry a little bit. "I've got a broken rib which you've just landed on." Harry scrambled off and was immediately grabbed by Moody, who put himself between Harry and Padfoot. "Oh please. If anyone down here needs protecting it's me. Did you see him attack me just then?" He chuckled at his joke, but he was still clutching his side and the skin around his eyes was tight.

"Sorry," Harry said stricken, from behind Moody.

"You didn't know," Padfoot said dismissively and laughed again. "Bloody hell, that hurt." He didn't sound angry, though.

_Or is he hiding it? I bet I really hurt him. What if I made it worse? What if_-

"Not Harry!"

"What?" Harry asked, looking up at McDuff. She was a tall woman, but she looked taller than before. Actually, everyone did. It took Harry another moment to realise that he was on the ground. And he was freezing. McDuff looked confused.

"I didn't say-"

"I'm not going to hurt him," Padfoot said angrily. "Your bloody Dementors are doing that well enough, I think."

"-Harry! Please – I'll do anything-!"

"What?" Harry asked again, focusing on McDuff again.

"Move if you know what's good for you," Padfoot snapped, shoving past Moody. "And someone cast a Patronus! Or better yet, send those damn guards away." Padfoot knelt down and waved his hand in front of Harry's face. Harry saw something silver streak out of Dumbledore's wand and land by the door. "You with me, kiddo?" Harry looked at McDuff with wide eyes; she looked calm for a woman who he was sure had been screaming just a moment ago. Reluctantly, he nodded.

"Get rid of them," Padfoot said, turning back to Scrimgeour.

"I intend to," Scrimgeour said. "I just want you to understand that I'm not doing it because you've told me to."

"I don't care _why _you do it as long as it's done!" Padfoot snapped. He helped Harry up and over to one of the beds and sat down beside him, while Scrimgeour and the McDuff slipped out of the cell.

"I'm fine," Harry said, which was mostly true; he was still a bit shaky, but he was warm again. Dumbledore approached, wand still in hand, controlling the large silvery blue bird over by the door. He gave Padfoot a warning look and knelt down beside Harry.

"Here," he said, producing a chocolate frog from somewhere in his robes.

"Thanks," Harry said, taking it.

"Chocolate is-"

"Good after Dementors," Harry said, tearing open the packaging. "I know." Dumbledore watched him through his half-moon spectacles for a long moment and then his blue eyes flicked to Padfoot.

"I suppose you would," he said finally. Harry broke off one of the frog's legs and offered it to Padfoot, who wrinkled his nose and shook his head.

"It wasn't offered to me," he said.

"I'm-" Harry began, but Padfoot shook his head again and offered him a small smile. Then, he tapped his temple, and Harry realised Padfoot must be using Occlumency again. Harry took bite and then stuffed the rest of the frog in when he realised how good it tasted. Padfoot chuckled and ruffled his hair, and Harry couldn't believe how much he'd missed the gesture. Dumbledore continued to watch Padfoot with a rather hostile expression, which became helpless when his gaze returned to Harry.

"You will have a guard," Dumbledore said finally.

"Ridiculous," Padfoot said, nodding. "But I expected it."

"I'm sure you did," Moody muttered, rolling his mismatched eyes. Padfoot winked at him and the old Auror seemed disgruntled by that.

"They will be with you at all hours. If they think there's even the slightest possibility that you're going to hurt the boy, he will be removed." Padfoot nodded. "Harry, if you feel at all threatened, all you need do is alert the Aurors on guard and you will be escorted to safety." Dumbledore looked nervous.

"I get to stay here?" Harry asked. "With you?" Padfoot pulled a small stack of stapled paper out of his robes, unfolded it and passed it to Harry. Harry didn't know exactly what all of the long-winded writing said but he got the gist; Padfoot was his guardian now, formally. Aunt Petunia had signed this and given Padfoot full custody of Harry. "Is this blood?" he asked, looking at Padfoot's signature.

"It's an old tradition," Padfoot said, shrugging. "Supposedly it makes everything more official. I explained this to you when we left your aunt's last year."

"Oh," Harry said, "Yeah. Right."

"And yes, as your _guardian-_" His emphasis had Moody scowling. "-it's appropriate for me to have you staying with me, as long as they can't prove I'm a danger to you. I know the holding cells aren't exactly comfortable, but I thought-" Harry hugged him again, but was gentler this time. Padfoot smiled and ruffled his hair again. "Yeah," he said. "That's what I thought."

* * *

"Lupin!" Remus hurriedly cleared his expression and spun around. Snape was marching toward him, scowling.

"Snape," he replied, trying to sound dejected.

"Interesting that you sought refuge here, of all places," Snape remarked, looking at the sign on the office behind Remus.

"Can I help you?" Remus asked, refusing to rise to the bait.

"In two ways," Snape said, stopping a few feet from him. "The Tonks girl is looking for you. She seems concerned for your wellbeing."

"Oh," Remus said; he'd run off when Sirius held up the guardianship forms. It probably wasn't the smartest thing to do, but the alternative had been to burst out laughing. Better that everyone assumed he was horrendously upset, than conspiring with Sirius. "Right. I'll find her-"

"See to it that you do. If I have to see her absurdly colourful head once more this afternoon, I might just hex it off." Remus arched an eyebrow. "'Professor, have you seen _Remus? _He's gone missing!'" Snape leered at Remus, who frowned. "I assured her someone would read your collar and return you to her, but she's growing... impatient." His dark eyes glittered.

"Right," Remus said. "I'll just-"

"When's the full moon, Lupin?" Snape asked, as Remus made to leave.

"A week exactly," Remus said carefully. "Why?"

"I have need of the information," Snape said, "and I'd look it up, but I know how _intimately _familiar you are with that particular-"

"Right," Remus said for the third time. "Was that all you needed, or did you want to rub it in some more?"

"That was all," Snape said, his sneer slipping off; his sallow face looked rather pale.

"Is everything all right?" Remus heard himself ask.

"Not exactly," Snape said, and for a moment he looked troubled, before he schooled his expression again.

"Can I help?" Remus asked.

"I doubt it; I assume you'll be likewise... indisposed." Snape's eyes were glittering again, in that rather malicious way Remus knew well. "Unless a cure's been developed since I last checked...?" Remus frowned at him. "I didn't think so," Snape sneered, and swept off.

_Git, _Remus thought, rolling his eyes. He picked himself up off the bench and headed for the lift; Dora would be somewhere on Level Two, with the rest of the Aurors and trainees.

The lift opened and the cool announcer's voice said, "Level Four, Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures."

"Excuse me." An elderly woman with a hissing Kneazle under her arm stepped off and Remus got in and pressed the button for Level Two.

* * *

Harry was mumbling something, but was fast asleep, apparently not bothered even slightly by the faint light coming from Marlene's wand; she'd been forbidden to put it out, in case Sirius crept over and attacked them. Sirius rolled over and his blankets rustled.

"Would you please be quiet?" Marlene growled. Sirius didn't answer her, and he did, amazingly, stop moving. She'd have thought he'd move around more, just to annoy her. "Thank you," she said, and he kept ignoring her. She didn't like it.

She'd been on guard duty – with Gawain and Proudfoot, who were slumped, asleep in the chairs on either side of her – for the past nine hours. Sirius was yet to speak to her. There'd been no cheerful greeting, no witty remarks, no... nothing. Not to her. Gawain and Proudfoot had chatted to him for quite a bit, and Sirius had chattered to Harry when he hadn't been talking to them. And she'd been ignored.

Sirius hadn't ignored her before, ever.

"Sirius," she said, holding her wand up. She saw his eyes gleam in the light, but then they closed. "I know you're not sleeping," she said. Still nothing. "Sirius."

"What?" he snapped, sounding exasperated. He rolled over and propped himself up on one elbow. "Did you want something, McKinnon?"

"I-" She snapped her mouth shut and looked away, unable to deal with him looking at her like that – like he didn't even know her. "Why are you calling me that?" she asked, finally, forcing herself to look at him again. His expression hadn't changed.

"Calling you what?" he asked. "Your name?"

"My name's Marlene," she said, before she could stop herself.

"I know what your name is, McKinnon," he said, and she jerked away as if he'd slapped her. He yawned, his hard expression giving way to a tired one. "Was there something you wanted, or can I go back to trying to sleep?"

She didn't know how to word what she wanted – she'd sound stupid if she tried to ask him to stop treating her strangely – so she muttered, "Yeah, sleep."

"Robards is asleep now, isn't he?"

"I think so," she said, peering at her mentor; he'd pretended to sleep – obviously he didn't trust her alone with Sirius – but she thought he'd actually dozed off about an hour ago.

"Hmm," Sirius said. He pulled Harry's blanket up – Harry had been kicking in his sleep earlier and pushed it down – and then ruffled the boy's hair before sinking into his own bed and rolling over to face the wall.

"What does 'hmm' mean?" she asked, squinting at his dim form. Sirius ignored her again and Marlene felt confused tears sting her eyes. "Sirius?" She heard him take a deep breath in and then let it out in a sigh. She blinked to make sure she wasn't going to cry. "_Sirius._"

Marlene got to her feet and crossed the room; she knew Sirius had heard her coming – his back stiffened – but he didn't turn around. She skirted Harry's bed and then yanked Sirius over by his shoulder. He didn't resist, but his hands darted to his side, as if to brace it.

He didn't say anything either, just watched her, and shifted slightly, still holding his side. It was maddening. She could have understood it if he'd been afraid of her – she'd almost expected it – or if he'd hated her. She'd hoped for that. No, instead, he looked at her as if she was nothing to him. There was no spark of mischief in his grey eyes, no warmth, no humour. Just calm... curiosity was too strong a word... awareness, that she was there, that she existed.

"Yes?" he asked. She released his shoulder and let her hand fall to her side. It felt cold, empty.

_Don't be stupid,_ she told herself. _You hate him, remember?_

But she didn't right now. She should have; he'd managed to gain _legal _custody of Harry, she'd failed to kill him two days ago and now she'd had to give up her night to guard him. It was hard, though, to hate him when he looked at her so... dispassionately. Like he didn't care what she thought, that she was even there. Like she wasn't worth his time. Like she'd betrayed him, only there was no anger in his eyes.

"I'm nothing to you," she whispered, not sure if the was telling him that, or asking him.

"No," he said stiffly. "You're not."

Marlene tucked her hair behind her ear and backed away to the chair she'd been sitting in before. Sirius had rolled over again, and there was no chance of him seeing the way her lip had startled to tremble. She took a few steadying breaths and sniffed, trying not to cry.

"Would you please be quiet," he said, in the exact same tone she'd used with him before. Marlene swallowed and shook Proudfoot awake; she didn't want Gawain to see her like this, because he'd want to know what had upset her and she didn't want to have that conversation. Ever.

"McKinnon?" Proudfoot said blearily.

"I've got to go," she said, and her voice sounded strained even to her own ears. She could only imagine what Proudfoot must think. "I'll send someone else down."

"Are you all right?" he called.

"No," she said thickly. "Not really." She flicked her wand at the door and ran out of it, not caring what Sirius or Proudfoot thought. She made sure it was locked again and then went to declare herself to Mad-Eye, who was standing by his chair, guarding the outside – Scrimgeour had apparently thought it was too dangerous to leave the Dementors guarding the cell while Harry was in it.

"McKinnon," he said, and Savage – who was sleeping in a chair on the other side of the corridor - jerked and mumbled something. "What's-"

"I can't be in there," she said, wiping her eyes on the back of her hand. "I- he-"

"It's not easy, is it?" he asked grimly. "We'll swap," he said, taking a sip from his hipflask. "Just wake Sava-"

"Let him sleep," she said, shaking her head. "I won't." Mad-Eye patted her shoulder and limped into the cell. Marlene sank into his chair, pulled her knees up to her chest, and began to cry quietly.

* * *

"I knew you'd come," Fenrir said, smiling at his visitor. There were tear track on her cheeks, her nose was red and her eyes were far away.

"Did you?" she asked flatly.

"Yes," Fenrir said eagerly, crawling toward the bars. She watched him, impassive. "You've come to rescue me."

"You're mad already," she said, disgusted, pulling her robes out of his reach. His hand fell to the grey, stony ground. There was silence, and the wind whipped her hair around her face. "I haven't come to help you."

"Why are you here then?" he asked, confused.

"Because I want to know what happened," she said, staring down at him. Her dark eyes were cold, disapproving.

"I've made you strong," he said, beaming. A Dementor passed behind her and they both shivered.

"No," she said. "I did that."

"I Gifted you." Her lip curled.

"You ruined me – my old life's gone, thanks to you. I had to drop my old friends, my _family._ My parents look at me and they're terrified."

"So they should be. You're more powerful than they could even imagine-"

"My father-"

"I _am_ your father," he said, pressing himself against the bars to get closer to her. He took a deep breath, inhaling her sweet, sweet, scent, the scent that had evaded him for nearly a year and a half.

"You're a monster," she said firmly. "We both are."

"Is that why you've done it, then?" he asked, reaching for her hand. "Is that why you've joined them?" His hand closed around her smaller one. She stared at it in shock, but there was a look of yearning on her face too. "Feels good, doesn't it? Warm. I bet no one's held your hand since-" She yanked her hand out of his and took a step back, still staring at her fingers. Fenrir held his hand to his nose and breathed in.

"I asked you a question," she said.

"You want to know what happened?" Fenrir asked. She nodded, her eyes bright and wary. "Free me." A Dementor swooped in from behind her and Fenrir howled and crawled to the back of his cell. He was cold, so cold, and it was dark, even with his eyesight.

He lost track of time, but when he sat up, she was still there, still watching him. Her shoulders were shaking and there were fresh tears on her cheeks but she was there.

"I _did_ make you strong," he said, dragging himself forward.

"What happened?" she asked, folding her arms.

"Free me."

"I hope you rot," she spat. "Answer the question."

"Manners, Daughter."

"Answers, F_ather_," she said in a brittle voice.

"I waited until he was alone," he whispered, encouraged; she'd called him father! "Then I knocked on the door and asked to come in. He was so polite, so friendly." He heard her teeth grind together. "Scared, once I pulled out my wand, but I like them that way. He fought, but I overpowered him. He tried to _lie._" Fenrir wheezed a laugh. "I smelled it right away, of course. Little fool." He laughed again and bared his teeth. "I don't like it when people lie." She was drinking in every word, but he could smell her horror, her fury.

"I got my answers eventually. I won't tell you how." He smiled up at his daughter. Her face was white in the light of the almost-full moon above them. "He would have lived though. I took his wand and I was leaving, when I heard him say something. I don't know what he said, but he was talking into a golden pocket watch. He was trying to _warn_ someone." Fenrir snorted. "I could have left him alive, but-"

"But you didn't," she said, her face hardening.

"He chose his own fate," he said, shrugging. "I just helped him along. I suppose he was a little lion? So brave and self-sacrificing..."

"Actually," she said. "He was a snake." She knelt down, bringing them to the same height for the first time. "And snakes are poisonous." Fenrir's smile widened and he decided to play along.

"But I wasn't bitten." She raised an eyebrow and stood up. He shifted closer to the bars.

"Really?" she asked, and smiled once, cruelly. "What's Azkaban if it's not a poison?"

She turned on her heel and strode away as the Dementors closed in.

* * *

It wasn't supposed to have happened this way. Humiliation after humiliation was all that Sirius Black had brought the Ministry; first he'd been an Auror, and then he'd betrayed them all, then he'd escaped the inescapable prison, then he'd kidnapped a boy, a boy not even the Ministry had known where to find. Then, Black had evaded them for months before losing Potter and stealing him back from right under everyone's noses a week later. Then he'd evaded them for another few months before _surrendering_ in the middle of Diagon Alley.

_Then_ he'd deflected their questions, forbidden them from questioning the Potter boy and then managed to steal the Potter boy back _yet again_ all without breaking a single law, and all without moving from his tiny cell at the bottom of the Ministry. He and Potter had lived there for three days now, quite comfortably.

It was maddening. Britain was sure to become a laughing stock because of one stupid, stubborn man.

"Ten of you, I think," she said with a smile.

It would be better this way; if she failed, she had nothing to lose. No one could whisper her name in the wrong ear, and no one would give her away. Absolute loyalty was part of the contract. Loyalty to the Ministry. And she _was_ the Ministry. If she succeeded, she'd be a hero. Minister in a year, probably sooner. She'd be sorry to see Cornelius lose his job but really, he was too soft-hearted to do what needed to be done, and he had no aspirations for the future of the wizarding world. Perhaps he could be her Under-Secretary. Advice was always welcome, and she did like Cornelius.

"Seven are to deal with the Aurors. Don't hurt them if you can help it," she warned. "Just don't let them interfere until the job is done."

But Sirius Black had to go. No one would miss him. The man was a lunatic, a criminal. Perhaps Potter would be sad but he was young. He'd move on, forget. Lucius Malfoy would give the boy a good home, and give _her_ a good reward. It was all for the best, all for the good of the Ministry.

Perhaps she'd even get an Order of Merlin. She deserved one, surely; she'd been in the same position for fifteen years, doing the same boring things with the same boring people, training up the same boring trainees – Albert or something was the one she had currently and she'd be glad to see the back of him. She didn't even _like_ children. Yes, an Order of Merlin, First Class, for her patience.

"Three of you can deal with Black and Potter. Don't hurt the boy, but don't let him interfere either."

Lucius would blame her if harm came to him, and Lucius was the sort of man who could give her the world, or take it away. She didn't like it when things were taken from her. Even as a girl, she'd hated it when her sister Alegria borrowed her things. Her mother had always encouraged her to share, but her mother was a fool who spent her time with her head floating around like those silly cupids she kept in her teashop. Her mother had good decorative sense, but not much else; sharing was for the weak.

"And a Kiss should do for Black."

The strong took what they wanted and the weak shared what was left. She wasn't a weak woman. She was capable of doing what needed to be done.

"See to it that it happens."


	48. A Long Night In Hell

"It's cold down here," Ben said, trying to make conversation. He missed Melvin like mad but he'd never been one that was able to stay sad for long. He just got on with things. Tonks was the same, as far as he could tell, and so was Shacklebolt. Florence still cried lots and was unnervingly quiet when she wasn't crying. None of them had seen much of McKinnon for a few days, so he didn't even know how she was.

_You leave, mate, _Ben thought glumly, _and everything falls apart._

He looked over at Finch, who had puffy eyes and a downturned mouth. Finch was usually so cheerful, but he hadn't seen her smile all week.

"Are you cold?" Ben asked, and Finch looked over at him. He wondered if she'd even heard and considered repeating himself.

"A bit," she said thickly. "Why? Are you?" Ben pulled his robes tighter and shivered.

"I-" He stared at his breath, misty white in the clear air. Then he glanced at Finch, who was frowning. The lift doors opened and a swarm of black drifted out. Ben counted five Dementors. They didn't come forward, though. They just hovered on the other side of the chamber. "What are they doing down here?" he asked Finch, whose eyes were blank. "Finch? Lyra?"

"I'm sorry, Melvin," she whispered.

"I'm not Melvin," Ben said, shaking her shoulder. "I'm Ben."

"I'm so sorry," Finch whispered, covering her face with her hands. She sat down and began to sob. One of the Dementors turned its head in Ben's direction. Ben didn't like Dementors, but he'd also had a fairly sheltered life; of his friends, he'd always fared the best when their duties as trainees brought them into contact with Dementors. He'd never lost anyone until Melvin, never seen anything horrific, and his biggest regret was his prejudice against Slytherins, which he'd more or less overcome.

"Lyra?" Ben said, shaking her shoulder again.

"Sorry," she whispered, and he'd have bet his job that she was remembering the morning she'd found Melvin. As an Auror, she'd seen some pretty terrible things, but he thought it was probably worse because she'd known Melvin personally. He hadn't just been a nameless stranger. "I should have answered, shouldn't have just let it burn-" The lift opened and another five Dementors swept out.

"Hey!" Ben called over his shoulder. He pulled his wand out, knowing it wouldn't do much; he'd never learned to cast a Patronus. "Hey! McDuff! Louisson! Yaxley! Hey! Help!"

"Wellingt-" McDuff's head appeared through the bars on Black's cell door. "Oh my. Yaxley, wake Louisson. Quickly, girl!"

"Stay back!" Ben warned, but the Dementors were creeping forward. "_Depulso. Ventus_." Neither spell was overly effective.

"-Dementors," he heard McDuff say.

"I told you I could feel them," an unfamiliar male voice said, but he sounded worried. "I thought Scrimgeour'd told them to stay away."

"He did," Louisson replied. "Hold tight, Black. We'll be back in a bit." The door opened and McDuff, Louisson and Yaxley filed out, wands up. Louisson went straight to Finch, while McDuff stomped up to the Dementors. Yaxley came to stand beside Ben, looking nervous.

"You've been dismissed from guard duty down here," McDuff said, waving her wand warningly. "I don't know who's sent you, but I know you're trouble and you're not staying down here until I've got a message signed by Scrimgeour himself that gives you permission." Louisson had moved the now-limp Finch to the side of the chamber and joined McDuff.

"Back you go," he said. "Go on." When none of them back away, Louisson's jaw tightened. "McDuff, if you'd be so kind-"

"Sorry," Lyra babbled. "Sorry, Melvin-"

"_Expecto-"_ McDuff began, but a Dementor seized her chin with its skeletal, scabby hand.

"_Relashio!_" Louisson and Ben cried in synchronisation. There was a flash and McDuff fell backwards. Two Dementors separated from the group and came to grip Ben's arms. Two had done the same to Louisson. "Unhand me you-" Louisson began, trying to shake them off. All he managed to do was drop his wand, however. Ben struggled and kicked, but there were no feet to sweep away.

"_Expecto Patron- NO_!_"_ McDuff shrieked as a Dementor gripped her chin again. Ben tried to aim his wand, but the Dementors holding his arms were firm. He couldn't even see her properly.

"Do something!" he shouted at Yaxley, but she was shivering, her back pressed up against the wall, her wand resting uselessly on the ground beside her. Ice raced up the walls and McDuff's screams cut off.

"No!" Louisson bellowed. Ben managed to get a good look and saw McDuff, lying on the floor with a blank, almost dreamy look on her face. Her mouth hung open. "No! How dare you-" Louisson cut off with a whimper.

Someone swore over near Yaxley, but the voice was too deep to belong to her. Ben saw a pale face peering through the bars of the window in the cell's door. Black. Black swore again and looked at Ben.

"Can you do a Patronus?" he asked in the same, no-nonsense tone he'd come to expect from all Aurors. Ben shook his head and tugged uselessly at the Dementors holding him. "You? Yaxley, was it?" Yaxley shivered and shook her head. "Let me help you," he said.

"What?" Yaxley asked.

"We don't need your help, Black," Louisson said. "We're doing just fine, thank you-"

"Fine?" Black asked loudly. "McDuff's been _Kissed, _you idiot!" He turned back to Yaxley. "Give me a wand – I promise I'll only cast a Patronus and then I'll give it straight back-"

"Rubbish! We can't trust him!" Louisson shouted. "Salacia, don't you dare!" Yaxley looked up at Black and then at Louisson, who was being dragged over to where Finch and McDuff sat, huddled against the wall. "No!"

"I can help you," Black said, his eyes wide and earnest from the other side of the bars. Ben believed him. He tried to throw his wand in Black's direction but the Dementors were holding him too firmly. His wand landed with a clatter and rolled out of reach.

"We can't- He's a prisoner! He can't be trust- ah!" The Dementors released Louisson who let out a squeak and curled up.

"Yaxley!" Black said urgently. "Let me help, please!"

"Louisson," Yaxley whispered, sounding scared, "what do I-"

"Give him the wand!" Ben snapped. With a massive heave, he managed to pull an arm free but it was caught again a moment later and a third Dementor came to hover before him, hand outstretched. Ben shrank back, head turned away.

"Please," Black said.

"No!" Louisson shrieked.

"Give him the damn wand!" Ben bellowed. Yaxley let out a sob and flung her wand away – it rolled over toward Finch and Ben's heart sank. "The door, Black! The door's unlocked! Black-"

Whatever hope Ben had harboured that Black might save them faded quickly; Black shoved the door open, but a Dementor was there to intercept him. Black shut the door again and Ben caught a glimpse of his face through the bars. Then the Dementor moved to block it from view, its hand lifting to remove its hood. It took a rattling breath and Ben prayed Black had the sense to move.

Thankfully, he heard footsteps and a whisper; Black saying something to Potter, or perhaps it was the other way around. The Dementor dropped its hand to the door and pulled it open. Yaxley gasped as it passed her.

"Padfoot..." Ben heard Potter said, and something in Ben broke. He started struggling again and his shoulder popped but the Dementors holding him refused to let go. Black was a grown man – quite possibly a murderous one – but Potter... Potter was just a kid. An innocent.

They dragged Ben over to where Louisson, Finch and McDuff were – about three yards from Black's cell and another three yards from the lift - and then released. He rubbed his shoulder as Yaxley scrambled over to join them. Ben wondered if it was fear that made her move, or if it was her Slytherin-born survival instincts. He decided it didn't matter much. He could feel her trembling.

"Give me Potter!" Ben said desperately, yanking on the cloak of the nearest Dementor while another one joined the first in the doorway of the cell. "Please! He's just a kid, just-"

"Please," he heard Black say. A third Dementor joined the other two, but this one moved past them. Ben heard hasty footsteps, and the sound that was quickly becoming his greatest fear; the rattle of a Dementor's breathing.

Ben eyed Louisson's fallen wand and the Dementors; the seven surrounding him, Finch, McDuff, Louisson and Yaxley were all focused on the cell. It was obvious that no one else could or – in Yaxley's case – would be any help. Been steeled himself and dove for it. His fingertips brushed wood and then cold pressed in on him from all sides and the rattling was deafening. He couldn't move, couldn't see. Everything was dark. Something clammy touched his sore shoulder and he was guided - rather forcefully - back to the others.

Louisson was hunched over his hands, muttering and the other three were slumped against the wall, though at least Yaxley's eyes were in focus.

_Am I the only sane one left?_ Ben wondered, coughing; the freezing air was burning his lungs.

"No!" Louisson said, clutching his hands to his chest. "No, let me- I'm your superior! Don't come near me-" Ben was shoved aside, into Yaxley, while two Dementors closed in on Louisson.

"Stop!" Ben yelled, prising a scabbed hand off of Louisson's face. "Let him go- stop it!" Bony fingers pressed into Ben's shoulder. His shoulder stiffened. It felt like it was freezing. He struggled through the pain, but the hand holding him was firm.

"Let me go!" Ben knew what was coming but was powerless to stop it. He squeezed his eyes shut and turned away, stomach churning. Tears ran down his cheeks and his nose was stuffy. He heard Louisson's breath catch, his protests die, heard the horrible rattling inhale, felt the temperature plummet. He heard something land with a ringing sound.

"Oh my Merlin," Yaxley sobbed through her hands. "He's- they just-"

Ben crawled over to the thing that had rolled out of Louisson's limp hand, and the Dementors let him. It was a Sidekick, slightly ajar. Ben picked it up, hoping, praying that maybe the Dementors hadn't noticed what he was holding. They had, though. The hand was back on his shoulder, not restraining him, just... there. Maybe it was a warning, or maybe he was next.

Ben quickly weighed his options; Finch couldn't help them, and even if he could get Yaxley to help, it would still be two against seven. They were bad odds, particularly when Ben was part of the two.

_Please don't let this be an enormous mistake_, Ben thought, and snapped the Sidekick shut. He rolled it away and it landed near Yaxley's wand. The hand on his shoulder vanished and Ben's eyes filled with scared, relieved tears. Yaxley was crying too; she shifted, pressing herself up against the wall beside him.

"No Sidekicks," he whispered. "Okay?" Ben reached for Finch, who immediately latched onto his side. "We'll get through this." They sat, hardly moving, and the Dementors made no move to hurt the rest of them. Ben thought they might be okay.

"Black?" Ben said in a voice that was half whisper. All three Dementors were in the cell now and the door was open, but Ben couldn't see any of them – Black, Potter, or the Dementors. "Black? Are you- can you hear me?" Yaxley let out another sob. "Potter?" There was no response from him either. "Black?"

* * *

"Black?"

Sirius bit his lip but didn't dare turn his head to look for the source of the sound. Padfoot stood in front of him, ears back, hackles raised, glowing a blue-grey. Padfoot's nose was inches from the rusted bars of Sirius' cell and on the other side of those were three Dementors, waiting.

"Black?" The voice echoed down from the grey Azkaban sky, but it sounded like it was coming through water, not air. The kid sounded scared, but there was nothing Sirius could do for him, much as he'd have liked to.

Something knocked the back of Sirius' knee and he glanced down instinctively, even though there was nothing there. Harry was in the real world, with Sirius' body, not in his head with his mental self. Sirius wished he could have brought Harry here; Harry would have been safe here, with Padfoot to protect him.

Harry wasn't safe where he was, though. He was freezing, trapped in a world of his very worst nightmares. And Sirius could do nothing except keep the Dementors from Kissing them. He'd never felt so helpless. He knew keeping the Dementors at bay without a wand was impressive, but it didn't feel it, not when he wasn't able to do anything else.

So, while he sat, mostly safe - the edges of his mental reality had started to blur and Padfoot wasn't as bright as he had been - and unaffected in the confines of his mind, Harry was suffering, and the Aurors and trainees were suffering.

If Sirius returned to bodily consciousness, though, he'd be overwhelmed – his mind was safe, but Kisses were physical. All it would take was one Dementor to get a grip on him and it would all be over. Right now, all that stood between the Dementors and his soul was using Padfoot to force the Dementors to keep their distance.

_No, _Sirius thought, retreating; his lapse of concentration had allowed the Dementors to get into the cell. He backed away, Padfoot guarding his front and bolstered his Patronus with more happy memories. It was too late, though; the Dementors were inside. Sirius pressed himself against the wall covered in outdated tally marks.

"Black?"

_If he's screaming, he's still got his soul, _Sirius thought, but he drew little comfort from that. He wished he could say something - anything - that might comfort the kid but it wasn't worth the risk of returning to his body. _He'll be all right. We'll all be all right. _He found a memory – James, Remus and Peter studying in the Gryffindor common room, eating food he and James had stolen from the kitchens – and passed it over to Padfoot. Padfoot glowed a little brighter and the Dementors in his head retreated an inch. Hopefully the real Dementors had retreated a bit too.

"Black?" the trainee's voice echoed around the cell again.

_Focus, _he told himself, and started digging for other happy memories; he'd need another one in a few seconds. One of the Dementors moved around, trying to take him from the side. Sirius funnelled more into Padfoot and wedged himself into a corner, with Padfoot in front of him.

The Dementor drifted back into line with its comrades, and the three of them resumed their patient watch. It was a battle of wills, one Sirius knew he'd win; how many times had Remus complained he was too stubborn for his own good? Will wouldn't be enough, though. He couldn't maintain Padfoot forever - not at this strength - and that's what was going to matter. He'd get tired, run out of happy memories. And as soon as Padfoot weakened, he'd be swept aside and Sirius would be exposed.

No, he couldn't outlast them. He could only hope that the next lot of Aurors made it down before his strength gave out. As if the Dementors had heard the thought, the rattling grew louder and ice raced over the walls of the cell. Even Sirius felt cold for a moment, before he forced another memory into Padfoot and the Patronus glowed a little brighter and chased away the cold. The effort had the edges of Sirius' reality trembling again.

_Focus, _he thought again, firmly and gathered his resolve. Said resolve almost shattered when a new sound pierced his world. It wasn't the trainee, and it wasn't the Dementors' breathing. Harry had whimpered.

_Just a bit longer,_ Sirius thought, scrunching his hands into fists, as he heard something explode. _The Aurors could be here at any moment. Just a bit longer._

* * *

Rufus glanced at Hemsley, Shacklebolt, Dale and Brown. Dale and Brown seemed oblivious, but Hemsley and Shacklebolt had been Aurors long enough to know when something wasn't right. And something wasn't right.

The lift plummeted deeper and it got colder and colder and Rufus' sense of unease grew. Without a word, he drew his wand and the others did the same – even the trainees were looking wary now.

Rufus thought of his sister and her family and sent his fox Patronus through the opening lift doors. Shacklebolt's lynx prowled out after it. Dale gasped and shrank back into Brown allowing Rufus to see into the chamber. Finely tuned skills allowed him to make a quick assessment.

All five Aurors who'd been on guard duty overnight were propped up against left-side wall, and in front of them were seven Dementors. There was no blood, and all of them were breathing. They were all alive. Good. A Sidekick and four wands were scattered over the floor of the room and Black's cell door was open. The Dementors had turned to face the lynx and fox.

"Black!" Wellington said, and Yaxley - whose head had been resting on his shoulder – jerked, saw Rufus and the others, and promptly burst into tears. One of the Dementors moved forward, reaching for Wellington. Rufus sent his fox bounding forward, but Shacklebolt's lynx beat it there, coming to the rescue of its master's trainee.

The Dementor moved away at once – barely escaping a swipe from the lynx – and within seconds, Shacklebolt had all seven Dementors on the opposite side of the room, guarded by his Patronus. Shacklebolt hurried over to see to the others.

"Yvonne?" Hemsley asked, frowning. McDuff stirred but didn't respond.

"Brown, help Shacklebolt," Rufus barked, and the trainee hurried over. "Dale, since you don't seem inclined to leave the lift, take it to the top and bring backup. Hemsley, you're with me." Hemsley tore his eyes off McDuff and followed Rufus across the room. Rufus sent his fox into Black's cell first, just in case, and then stepped after it, afraid of what sight might greet him.

It looked like a warzone; the beds were overturned and the feathers from the pillows covered the white floor like snow. There were scorch marks on the walls and the curtain around the toilet, shower and sink had fallen down. The glass around the shower was cracked and the sink was spraying water all over the place.

It seemed empty, and Rufus' first thought was that Black and Potter had set the Dementors on the Aurors and escaped. At that moment, though, a Dementor's rattle caught his attention. Three of them were gathered in the very corner of the cell and Rufus didn't hesitate before sending his Patronus streaking over to scatter them. It chased them out of the cell and Rufus heard Hemsley lock the cell door, though it was painfully obvious Black was in no condition to be attempting to escape.

Black's eyes, which had been as empty and grey as the sky above Azkaban, focused on Rufus with alarming intensity and he steadied himself on the wall.

"Black?" Rufus said, stepping forward. Black opened his mouth as if he was about to say something, but his eyes rolled back into his head and he dropped like a stone, landing heavily on his side before Rufus could even think to cast a Cushioning Charm.

Black's fall revealed Potter, who was curled up in the very corner of the cell and had apparently been sheltered behind Black. His face was as white as the cell walls and he had tear tracks on his cheeks. His eyes – which had been empty like Black's – became wild and locked onto Black. Rufus and Hemsley jumped as one of the beds in the other corner burst into flames and the glass in the shower exploded and rained down on them all.

When everything settled, Rufus crouched down and edged a little closer to Potter, who was still watching his godfather.

"Potter," he said softly, and Potter jerked and slowly raised his eyes. Rufus found he couldn't meet them for long. There was terrible knowledge there and a haunted look that didn't belong in a boy's eyes – anyone's eyes. He still looked a little wild.

"Sir!" Brown pushed the door open, his face as white as Potter's. Wellington was beside him, looking unsteady but determined. "Wow," Brown said, staring around at the destruction, which Rufus would have bet his job was Potter's work – accidental, of course. "What happen-"

"Did you want something?" Rufus asked tersely, and Brown looked stricken.

"Oh. Yes, sir," he said, his face paling again immediately. "It's McDuff and Louisson, sir-"

"What about them?" Rufus asked.

"They've been... The Demento- Kissed, sir." Brown looked at Hemsley as he said it, though his words were directed at Rufus; Hemsley's face drained of colour and he ran out, shoving past Wellington, who swayed where he stood. Rufus glanced at Potter, who didn't look like he'd be moving far any time soon – neither did Black for that matter – and Rufus' healing skills weren't good enough to give them what they needed; broken limbs and nasty curses he could handle, but fainting – from a cause other than poison - and mental trauma... not so much.

He followed Brown out of the cell and saw Hemsley shaking McDuff, and Shacklebolt waving his wand over Louisson while Yaxley talked to him in a low, shaky voice. Brown dropped down beside McDuff and put his hand on Hemsley's shoulder.

A grinding noise made Rufus look up at the lift which opened; Moody limped out, followed by Robards, Taure, Klenner, Savage and Dumbledore – Rufus marvelled at his ability to be wherever things were happening – and with a look at the confined Dementors, stepped forward to share what he knew.

* * *

The doorbell chimed, startling Marlene. She stood up – her chair scraped on the wooden floor – and made her way upstairs, still nursing her cup of tea.

She unlocked the door – the muggle way, because she'd left her wand downstairs – and pulled it open.

"Sir?" she said, blinking. Gawain looked equally startled to see her - that was odd, given that it was her house – and for the second time that week, raised his wand in her direction and Disarmed her. Her teacup flew out of her hand and shattered on the hallway floor. Hot tea soaked Marlene's dressing gown and dripped down the white walls. Gawain stepped inside and closed the door. "What the hell do you think you're doing?!" she asked, steadying herself on the wall.

"Sorry," he said tersely, and Vanished the mess. "Where's your wand?"

"Next to the kettle," she said, rather wishing she had it with her now. She folded her arms and drew herself up to her full height – a whole two inches taller than Gawain. "Have I done something wrong?" His eyes bored into hers and she stared back, confused, but resolute.

"You tell me." She'd never heard Gawain sound so cold.

"I don't know-"

"Tell me!" he snapped. Marlene's eyes filled with tears. It didn't take much to set her off at the moment. "Why are you crying?" he asked in a hard voice.

"Get out," she told him. She stalked past him and pulled the door open.

"Excuse m-"

"I said get out!" she snapped. "I haven't slept properly for days and I'm tired enough and confused-" Her voice broke on the word. "- enough without you adding to it!" Gawain opened his mouth but she cut him off. "Say whatever you came to say, or get out." She pushed her hair – which she hadn't brushed since yesterday morning – out of her face and gestured to her front doorstep. Gawain didn't leave, however.

"You haven't been sleeping?" he asked.

"_That's_ what you got out of what I just said?" she asked, laughing once without humour. She closed the door again and headed off down the hallway.

"McKinnon, where are you going?"

"To get another cup of tea," she said, without looking back at her mentor. She poured herself another cup when she reached the kitchen and settled herself at the table. Gawain – who'd followed her down - glanced at the kettle and then at Marlene, who waved a hand. He poured himself a cup and sat down opposite her.

"Thank you," he said, and she just watched him over the brim of her cup. He sipped at his drink and then cleared his throat and set the cup down. "There was an attack at the Ministry overnight," he said. Marlene didn't say anything. "We lost McDuff and Louisson."

"They're dead?"

"Kissed." Marlene's stomach twisted; McDuff and Louisson had been on guard duty last night; it was supposed to have been her and Gawain but Marlene had pulled out, unable to face Sirius again. Louisson and Yaxley had taken their places. She didn't know whether to feel relived or guilty.

"There were Dementors in the holding cells?" Marlene asked. Then, both dreading and hoping for Sirius' name she said, "Was it only McDuff and Louisson, or-"

"No one else was Kissed," Gawain said, and Marlene couldn't imagine what her face must look like. She didn't know how she felt.

"What were they doing down there? Scrimgeour sent them away-"

"Someone sent them back," Gawain said, his eyes searching her face. Not liking the scrutiny, Marlene got up to refill her mug. "Ten Dementors were down in those cells for eight hours last night, seven with our lot, three in with Black and Potter." Marlene's insides twisted again, this time out of worry for Harry. "We don't know who the target was, but Wellington thinks it was Black or Potter because if it had been one of them, the Dementors wouldn't have bothered entering the cell. Scrimgeour agrees - Black and Potter were in a corner, completely surrounded, while our lot were just being watched - but it's all speculation. McDuff and Louisson were the ones that were Kissed... maybe they were the targets."

"You don't think so?"

"Wellington and Yaxley both said McDuff was attacked while she tried to cast a Patronus, and that Louisson was trying to use his Sidekick." Gawain shook his head. "And both were Kissed early on, but the Dementors were still there, hours later."

"And if Wellington, Finch and Yaxley weren't attacked, then it's unlikely they were the targets," Marlene muttered. "I think Wellington's right."

"So do I. Unfortunately, it makes things harder – Potter's a good kid, but he's the Boy-Who-Lived. He's not without enemies, much as we'd like to pretend otherwise. And Merlin knows Black's not a popular man. There'd be a shorter list of people that want him _alive_ that those that want him dead."

"Or Kissed."

"Or Kissed," Gawain agreed.

"Do we have any suspects?"

"It's being looked into. So far I've got one."

"Who?" Marlene asked. Gawain gave her a flat look. "M-me?" she stuttered, her eyes widening. "But-"

"You tried to kill him four days ago," Gawain reminded her, as if she'd somehow forgotten. As if she could _ever_forget. "I'd be an idiot _not _to suspect you."

"So you think I- that it was me?" she asked hoarsely, wondering what that meant for her now; she _hadn't _done it, but how was she supposed to prove that?

"Was it?" Gawain asked.

"No! No, I'd never- Harry was there!" Marlene took a sip of tea to fortify herself. "Gawain, I wouldn't- didn't-"

"I _thought_ that was the case," he said, and drained his cup, "but I also doubted you'd be able to use an Unforgivable." Marlene said nothing; she'd used her first Unforgivable at nineteen, to save Lily from a Death Eater. Gawain didn't know about that, and he never would if she had it her way. "I've been wrong about you before."

"You believe me though, don't you?" Marlene asked desperately.

"You're not the type to send others to attack people for you." Again, Marlene said nothing, sure they were both thinking of her failed attempt on Sirius' life four days ago. "Yes," Gawain said finally. "I believe you." Marlene's eyes filled with tears again.

"Is Harry okay?" She asked the question out of genuine concern, but Gawain had also opened his mouth to say something – probably something comforting - and she didn't think she could bear to listen to him.

"A few scratches from when he blew up the shower but otherwise he's physically fine. Mentally, though..." Gawain shook his head and Marlene felt something inside her crumble. A few tears spilled over. "The Healers thought it might be best to Obliviate him, but they need his _guardian's _ approval and Black hasn't woken up yet."

"Sirius is hurt?" Marlene heard herself ask.

"Broken ribs, but the rest is mental. The Healer who looked at him said he's shut down. They were bringing in a Legillimens-" Gawain checked his Sidekick. "-about now, actually, to assess the internal damage."

"Sirius survived Azkaban," Marlene said, tracing the side of her mug with a shaking finger. "He'll survive this." She wasn't sure if she was heartened by that thought, or disappointed. Gawain didn't say anything, but he was frowning at his teacup. "Won't he?"

"I don't know," Gawain said.

* * *

"-charms wear off eventually," Moony agreed, and Harry might have thought it was nice that this, at least, could be discussed without Moony pretending to hate Padfoot, if it hadn't been Harry they were discussing.

"Exactly," Padfoot said, and Harry heard his chair scrape on the floor of the cell.

"So you want to let the boy suffer?" the Healer – who'd told Harry his name but Harry'd forgotten what it was – asked.

"I'd much rather not have him in this situation at all," Padfoot said, and Harry twitched; his voice was closer than Harry'd expected. "But what he was thinking saw – whatever bad thoughts were forced on him while the Dementors were in here – will come back the next time he's near a Dementor, and we'll be in this same position." Panic crept up on Harry and he pushed it down.

_Listen. Just listen, don't think_, he told himself. _And don't sleep._ Harry wondered if he'd ever sleep again.

"Are you anticipating more encounters with Dementors, Mr Black?" the Healer asked snidely. The Aurors on the far side of the room fell silent, obviously keen to hear Padfoot's response.

"I wasn't expecting _this_ encounter," Padfoot growled. His voice was right over Harry now, and then Harry felt a hand brush his hair.

Harry was careful to keep breathing deeply and not give himself away, although he badly wanted to speak to Padfoot; he'd been pretending to sleep to avoid questions about the night before and Padfoot had been unconscious until about an hour ago. Harry'd heard about forty minutes of healing and Padfoot swallowing potions and Legillimency talk – apparently the Legillimens had found a destroyed Azkaban in Padfoot's head, and there'd been debate about what that meant - and Harry had almost 'woken up', when the conversation turned to Memory Charms. Padfoot sighed nearby and then Harry heard Padfoot's chair scrape again.

"Whether you believe me or not, Leatherby, I do have Harry's best interests at heart. I'm not happy – at all – that he had to go through what he went through-" Someone snorted – one of the Aurors, Harry thought, judging from the direction it had come from.

"Think that's funny, Dawlish?" Scrimgeour asked in a rather dangerous voice. Scrimgeour hadn't left all day; he seemed to have taken the Dementors' presence as a personal insult and was determined to guard Harry and Padfoot and his Aurors himself. Harry hadn't had much to do with Scrimgeour – and he hadn't particularly liked him when he had been around – but he certainly admired the man's determination.

"It's _Black_," Dawlish said, as if that explained everything. Harry's hands tightened around his blanket. "He didn't care about the Potters when he sold them to You-Know-Who-"

There was a scrape and a thump and then someone said, "Oof!" Harry, meanwhile, was trying to control his breathing; memories from last night hovered just out of reach, threatening to resurface.

"Sit down, Sirius," Moony snapped, and Harry guessed Padfoot had lunged at Dawlish and Moony had stopped him. There were more footsteps, the sound of a chair being picked up roughly and then a muffled thump – presumably Padfoot sitting down again. "Honestly, you talk about being a changed man," Moony said coolly, "and then you go and do something stupid like that. Do you think we're all thick?"

"Not _all _of you," Padfoot replied, and Harry wondered who his godfather had singled out with a look. Probably Dawlish. "And I never said I was a changed man. This whole time I've been trying to prove I _haven't_ changed."

"You're doing an awful job of it," Moony said after a pause; Harry wondered why no one had beat him to it.

"Really?" Padfoot asked. "Why? I've always been quick to defend Lily and James."

"Except when you passed them over to-"

"He didn't insult the Potters," Scrimgeour interjected and Harry thought it was good timing, but the mention of his parents had him starting to panic again.

_Listen. Just listen. Don't think, _he told himself.

"He did," Padfoot shot back, sounding irritated. "He said I 'didn't care' about the Potters." His voice dropped to a mutter. "James and Lily weren't the sort of people you can't care about."

"Clearly you-"

"Get out," Scrimgeour said. Harry assumed Dawlish must have looked at him, because then Scrimgeour said, "Yes, Dawlish. You. Out. Send a replacement down."

"I'm an Auror, not a messenger," Dawlish said stiffly.

"Then perhaps while you're up there, you can do some investigating and find out what's taking Rattler so long." The door opened and slammed shut.

"Nicely handled," Padfoot said, and Moony snorted. Harry suspected it was actually a concealed laugh.

"I'd have sent you out too if I'd been able to manage it," Scrimgeour said irritably. Someone – the Healer, Harry thought, since the only other people in the cell were him, Padfoot, Moony and Scrimgeour - laughed. Harry'd forgotten his name again.

"No, you wouldn't have," Padfoot said. "You're too smart to send us out together – we'd keep fighting, and that would defeat the purpose."

"Dear Merlin, you've got an answer for everything, don't you?" the Healer asked. Harry wasn't sure if he sounded awed or exasperated.

"Do you really want to hear the answer to that?" Padfoot asked. Harry could _hear_ him grinning. Moony sighed.

"So it's a no to the Memory Charm?" the Healer asked, to clarify. Harry stiffened and Padfoot came over again, this time to sit on the bed, beside Harry's knees.

"Is he all right?" Moony asked, sounding worried. He'd even forgotten to address Padfoot angrily.

"See!" the Healer exclaimed. "Nightmares! We can protect him from this-"

"We could," Padfoot agreed, and Harry could feel those grey eyes on his face; he suspected Padfoot knew he was awake and that made him feel rather sheepish. Padfoot laughed quietly and it occurred to Harry too late that Padfoot – and Moony – could probably smell that. "But frankly, Leatherby-"

_Leatherby, _Harry thought, determined to remember the Healer's name this time.

"- I don't think kids should be covered in Cushioning Charms and read _The Toadstool Tales_. Call me irresponsible-"

"No need," Moony said viciously, as if to make up for his lapse. "Everyone knows anyway."

"You said you agreed with me about this, so shut up," Padfoot said in the same tone, and Moony fell silent. "No Memory Charms," Padfoot continued, sounding tired. He nudged Harry's knee with his hand and Harry – gently – pushed back.

"Sir?" Leatherby said, obviously addressing Scrimgeour. "Can you talk some sense into Black?"

"Good luck," Moony muttered.

"The boy should be spared!"

"It's too late to spare him," Scrimgeour said. Harry heard the door open and Rattler murmur greetings. "We cannot undo last night – his memory of it, yes, but that night will still have happened, even if he no longer remembers it."

"Sort of makes you wish the Unspeakables would hurry up with their time-travelling device, doesn't it?" Rattler said, and Padfoot made a small noise of assent.

"You're sure?" Leatherby asked. Harry nudged Padfoot.

"I'm sure," Padfoot said. Harry heard Leatherby leave. Then, Padfoot shook Harry's shoulder and Harry knew his pretend-sleep was over. He didn't want to wake up. Waking up meant talking about last night. "Kiddo," Padfoot said – for effect, obviously, because Harry'd already opened one eye. Padfoot passed Harry his glasses.

"Hi," Harry said reluctantly. Padfoot was watching him with a sad expression.

"Would you lot mind-" Padfoot began, and Moony looked torn – obviously he wanted to stay, but there was no way he'd be able to without rousing suspicion – but stood. He met Harry's eyes for a moment, smiled sadly, and then left. Scrimgeour and Rattler stood too – Rattler smiled at Harry – and they followed Moony out.

"What-"

"They trust me with you, now, I think," Padfoot said, watching the door close. "Scrimgeour in particular. He was the one who-"

"Yeah," Harry said. Had that really only been a few hours ago? "How'd you know I wasn't sleeping?" Padfoot raised an eyebrow.

"You talk," Padfoot said, amused. "It's funny, actually. Half the time you're awake, we can't get a word out of you, but when you're asleep, you don't shut up." He grinned. Harry didn't feel up to returning it, and Padfoot's amusement faded. "Kiddo, I- You didn't want to be Obliviated, did-"

"No," Harry said, but he wasn't sure if that was the truth or not. _Don't think about it, don't think about it._Padfoot nodded. "Are you feeling all right?"

"My head's a bit of a mess," Padfoot admitted, pulling a face. "Back to the way it used to be, before I built Azkaban, so it's not like there's been any real damage done, but it feels... odd."

"Will you rebuild it?" Harry asked.

"Probably," Padfoot said, after a pause. They were only speaking quietly, but his voice dropped again and he cast a glance at the door. "I don't know that I could cast a Patronus with things the way they are at the moment, and it's... I think it's a good idea to make sure that's a possibility, just in case." Padfoot blew at a feather on the ground – most of the glass and feathers and water had been cleaned up, but some remained – and it fluttered over to the table where Moony had been sitting. Harry kept watching it, even when Padfoot's attention returned to him. "Have the thoughts stopped?"

"For the moment," Harry said. Padfoot didn't seem to know what to say; he was obviously trying to be delicate about the situation – which Padfoot wasn't all that good at. Harry might have found it funny to watch under different circumstances.

"I'm glad I took you," Padfoot said quietly. "I'm sorry that it means you're stuck down here, and that last night... happened..."

"It's not your fault," Harry told him.

"No," Padfoot agreed. "But I am sorry I couldn't do more to help you." Harry shrugged. Padfoot slung an arm over Harry's shoulders and squeezed. Harry leaned into Padfoot's side - Leatherby had healed his ribs, so Harry wasn't afraid of hurting him. "Really, really sorry."

"It's fine," Harry said.

"Really, really, really-" That coaxed a reluctant laugh out of Harry.

"I heard you the first time," he said, knocking into Padfoot's side. Padfoot chuckled. "Do you- I mean, are you-" Harry almost said 'serious' and then thought better of it. "You're glad you took me?"

"I am," Padfoot said, and didn't joke about it - perhaps he sensed that Harry needed to hear it. Harry smiled tentatively, as some of last night's fear vanished. It was stupid that he still worried if Padfoot wanted him - Padfoot had made it abundantly clear on many occasions that he did - but Harry supposed it was a Dursley-born doubt that he'd retained. "That's what you saw, then?" Padfoot asked hesitantly. "Me saying I didn't want you?"

"Yeah," Harry said, shrugging. _Amidst other things._

"And that's all?" Padfoot pressed, in a very careful tone.

"I- no. There was- were other... things," Harry muttered, not looking at Padfoot.

"Just thoughts?" Padfoot asked, using a voice Harry'd only heard once; that day, over a year ago, when they'd sat down on the landing at home and Padfoot had asked about the Dursleys. Trust. That's what he was asking for. After hearing Snape again, whispering about what a monster Padfoot was, it wasn't as easy as it should have been, to trust him. But Snape was wrong, and Harry did trust Padfoot.

"Memories," he whispered, and Padfoot went very still beside him.

"Memories?" He looked at Harry, but Harry stared at the floor. "I didn't realise- I thought it was just thoughts- hallucinations-" Harry rubbed his eyes - they were starting to sting - and shook his head. "Oh, kiddo," Padfoot said, pulling him into a tight hug. Harry returned it, distracted. "Maybe- if you want Leatherby to come back-"

"No," Harry said firmly. "It's- just no."

"The cave?" Padfoot guessed, and Harry nodded.

"And after it... With Kreacher-"

"And not me," Padfoot said, nodding, but he was frowning. "I thought you'd got over that."

"I guess not," Harry said, and then felt bad for snapping; Padfoot was trying to help. "I haven't dreamed about it in months. I think it was just last night that-"

"Brought it back?" Padfoot suggested, and Harry nodded. "I seem to figure prominently in all of your bad thoughts and memories."

_Because he's a monster_, Snape muttered, somewhere in Harry's head.

_Shut up_, Harry told it. "I guess," Harry said aloud, hoping Padfoot would sense he didn't want to talk any more, and end the conversation. He wasn't so lucky.

"Are you sure you don't want Leatherby-"

"I'm sure," Harry insisted.

"Why?" Padfoot asked gently. "Kiddo?"

"Because," Harry said, shrugging Padfoot's arm off.

"That's a rubbish answer."

"I don't want-" Padfoot raised an eyebrow, inviting Harry to continue. Harry scowled. "Just leave it." Padfoot, looking thoughtful, did.


	49. The Scar And The Schemer

Sirius' next three days in captivity passed quickly, and by the end of the third, he was beginning to notice that a sort of routine had been established; there were always two Aurors on guard inside the cell – sometimes both were trainees – because Sirius was trusted not to attack Harry. Umbridge came in with breakfast – the quality of which had improved with Harry's arrival – and took Harry away for a few minutes each day to question him.

Harry said it was about his perceived safety and to try to encourage him to speak out against Sirius. Harry hadn't – otherwise he'd have been moved out of the cell at once – but he'd been distant for the last few days, and Sirius wasn't sure why; he might be acting on Umbridge's orders - or maybe against them – he could be struggling with the cell-lifestyle, or it could be an after-effect of the Dementor attack. Sirius privately thought it was the latter, but had no idea what to do about it because Harry still wouldn't talk to him about it. Or anything much, really.

Lunch came at twelve-thirty and the Auror guard changed at two. Rattler would always come down with the next set of guards and he would play cards with Harry and whoever else wanted to join in. Rattler would also throw at least one game every time they played, as an excuse to reward Harry with a chocolate frog – Rattler's way of continually trying to make up for the Dementors, Sirius thought, and genuinely appreciated it.

Someone always visited at about four. Usually it was Remus or Dumbledore – sometimes they came together – and yesterday Snape had come too. He and Sirius had glowered at each other, and Snape had made loud, rather pointed comments about Remus and the impending full moon. Sirius had been annoyed at that – and a little curious, because Snape had been giving Sirius pointed looks all the while – and had come to Remus' defence on more than one occasion. That, thankfully, gave Remus an excuse to be a little kinder to Sirius. It was nice to be able to speak civilly to each other again, even if they did have to throw in an offhand insult every now and then.

Visitors were sent out when dinner arrived at seven, and after that, bedtime was whenever they felt like it, though the guard changed at eleven and the Aurors hadn't yet managed to pull that off quietly. Sleep wasn't exactly easy after eleven either; Aurors on nightshift were required to make hourly reports to Scrimgeour, which often woke Sirius, and even if that hadn't, Harry would have.

He spent the nights muttering and flailing around in the bed beside Sirius'. Sirius woke him up – Harry would be disoriented and not remember much at all before dropping back into uneasy sleep – several times a night, but between one and five, sleep was generally undisturbed.

Sirius was waiting excitedly for it to get to one, so that he could sleep; Harry's watch, which lay beside his glasses on the floor, said it was just after twelve.

"No," Klenner muttered, from her chair by the door. "No- stop it." Sirius saw Hemsley prod her; she snorted and her head lolled onto her shoulder, and thankfully she fell silent. Harry was embarrassed in the mornings – he always apologised to the Aurors on nightshift – but Sirius didn't think he needed to be; most of them talked in their sleep just as much as he did.

"Lucky us, huh?" Sirius said dryly, from his corner.

"Yeah," Hemsley said, glumly. He'd been told to take time off to deal with losing – well, she wasn't dead, but she might as well be – McDuff, who'd been his partner in every sense of the word; lots had changed since Sirius himself was an Auror, but that hadn't. Hemsley'd taken two days off and then come back to work a nightshift. Sirius had heard him shouting at Scrimgeour that afternoon, and obviously he'd managed to talk his way out of any more time off. Sirius didn't blame him; it was best to keep living.

"I'm sorry," Sirius said quietly.

"What do you care if she's dead?" Hemsley asked, looking over with tired, red-rimmed eyes. "You didn't- you never got along with her."

"No," Sirius agreed. It was true; he and James had never seen eye to eye with McDuff and Hemsley – the four of them had gone through Auror training together – and they'd been enemies in the Auror exam. Both of them were still Aurors now – or had been, in McDuff's case - so obviously they'd turned out all right. "Doesn't mean she deserved to die," Sirius said, unable to find a better word. Hemsley grunted and went back to staring at the roof.

"It's a clue," Klenner said, breaking the silence. Then she muttered something about a dragon and let out another snore. Hemsley sighed and nudged her again. Sirius looked at the watch and grinned; there wasn't long now.

Then, as if on cue, Harry rolled over and started to mutter incoherently into his pillow.

* * *

"I'm just going to lock up."

"I'll see you soon." Moving. Harry was moving. He couldn't see anything – maybe his eyes were closed, or maybe he just didn't remember. Maybe his eyesight had been bad, even then. It was all too easy to imagine the cottage though, and the hallway. He'd been there now, after all. A thump. Running footsteps.

"Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off!"

Laughter, high and cold.

"_Avada Kedavra_."A thump.

Strangled breathing, and her steady, almost silent, "No. No, James, no, no, no, no, no..." A choked sob. A door slamming. Scraping noises. Harry'd seen enough of his nursery to guess she was barricading the door. Pressure – a bit like Apparating, but warmer. "James?! James! _James_!" Then nothing. Silence. A step creaking as someone came upstairs. A bang and a scraping sound. And no more warmth, no more pressure. Just something spongy beneath his feet. "Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!"

"Stand aside, you silly girl... stand aside now!"

"Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead-"

"This is my last warning-"

"Not Harry! Please... have mercy... have mercy... Not Harry! Not Harry! Please- I'll do anything-"

"Stand aside. Stand aside, girl!" Silence. Almost ten seconds of it. Then a spoken spell and a flash of blinding, sickly green light. Another thump, this one muffed by carpet, and then darkness again. Soft footsteps.

"_Avada Kedavra._" Green light again, and then screaming. He wasn't sure whose.

* * *

Harry gasped and clapped a hand to his scar seconds before his eyes flew open. The air tingled and then Sirius heard the shower shatter again.

"Kiddo," Sirius said, watching the expression on Harry's face change from scared to angry to confused in the space of a few seconds. "Harry?" Sirius caught Hemsley's eye – he looked ready to come over – and nodded to say Harry was all right. Hemsley leaned back into his chair, and fixed the shower with a flick of his wand before Harry could notice it and feel guilty.

"Padfoot?" Harry said, frowning a bit.

"You all right?" Sirius asked.

"Dream," Harry said, shrugging.

_Hadn't noticed_, Sirius thought, rolling his eyes, but he couldn't help the fond smile that crept onto his face. "A bad one?"

Harry just shrugged again – Sirius didn't miss the evasive gesture - and said, "Sorry for waking you up-"

"I wasn't asleep," Sirius said, wondering what sort of good dream could leave Harry looking angry and scared. He glanced at Harry's watch – it was quarter-to, so hopefully this would be it for the night – or for a few hours at least. "Do you want to talk about it?" Sirius asked. Harry was still yet to explain why he didn't want to be Obliviated. Sirius was counting on him to blurt the reason out at some point, but he'd been tight-lipped about it so far.

"What's to say?" Harry asked, his eyelids starting to droop again.

"What it was?" Sirius suggested – Harry wouldn't remember this conversation, he didn't think.

"Don't think about it," Harry muttered. "Don't think about it."

"What?"

"Nothing," Harry sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Am I bleeding?"

"No," Sirius said, a little alarmed. "Why?"

"Hurts," was all Harry managed before his eyes closed completely.

_His scar hurts...? _Sirius didn't know all that much about the scar. He intended to corner Dumbledore for a chat as soon as his trial was over – if Sirius ever got his trial, and with the way everyone was avoiding the matter, he was beginning to doubt that he would – and hear the Headmaster's theories on the scar. Sirius hesitated before shaking Harry awake again. Harry blinked and squinted up at him.

"Padfoot?"

"It hurts?" Sirius said.

"What does?" Harry asked, and Sirius chuckled.

"Your scar," Sirius said. Harry's eyes widened a little more and he reached up to touch it.

"How'd you know that?" Harry asked, looking dumbfounded. Sirius chuckled again.

"You told me." Harry looked even more bewildered. "Why does it hurt?" Sirius pressed.

"You tell me," Harry muttered. "You know more than I do, apparently."

_When's a good dream scary?_ Sirius wondered. "Did you knock it?"

"Dunno," Harry said, but he was obviously lying. "I- yeah, I must have." Sirius snorted. In Sirius' limited experience, the scar didn't bother Harry at all – except when people stared at it, Harry had told him – but Sirius remembered it itched around the locket.

_Voldemort, maybe? _Sirius wondered, squinting at Harry, who shifted and wouldn't meet his eyes. Sirius knew, with a strange, chilling conviction, that he was right – or partly right. It wasn't a nice feeling. _He's not around now, though, is he?_ Sirius wondered, gazing into the corners of the cell. Hemsley's dim wandlight reached all the way around – white was an easy colour to illuminate – and it was empty. _We're safe in the Ministry, though. He can't be here._ Sirius was uncomfortably aware that Dementors had made it down – ten of them – and that no one had found them for hours. _Not that safe, really. _Sirius stood up and Hemsley looked over.

"Black?" Sirius padded over to the cell door and Hemsley followed his progress with his wand, obviously disconcerted. Sirius peered out through the bars of the door at the dark chamber. He could just see Mad-Eye, asleep in a chair, and Dora struggling to stay awake, her wand barely lit in her lap. Otherwise, it was empty, and the lift doors were shut. "Black?" Hemsley whispered.

"Bring that over here," Sirius said, waving the Auror over. "I need light." It was best to be sure. Hemsley muttered something under his breath but he got up and came over and in the dim light, Sirius could see that yes, aside from Mad-Eye and Dora, it was empty. "All good," he whispered, when Dora looked up, worried. "Thanks," he said to Hemsley, and climbed back into bed. Harry was still awake, the lack of light making his face seem paler and his eyes darker.

Maybe it was the dream that had hurt Harry. Maybe... maybe he'd dreamed of Voldemort? Sirius frowned, not liking that thought much more than he had liked the idea of Voldemort being there in person. But Harry hadn't said it was a bad dream and Sirius couldn't imagine Voldemort being present in a good dream. He glanced at Harry out of the corner of his eye. He was lying down again, head on his pillow, but his eyes were still open, and tired in a way that had nothing to do with lack of sleep.

"Was it a memory?" Sirius asked softly, and Harry, surprisingly, just nodded. He didn't look at Sirius, but Sirius felt like the barrier between them had come down, or thinned. It was a bittersweet feeling, given the cause, because abruptly, Sirius understood. Harry had never seen Voldemort – they'd all been so careful with him, and with little Neville Longbottom too – never, until _that _night. And so, any memory Harry had of Voldemort could only come from one time. Pieces of the puzzle that had confused Sirius for days, fell into place, one by one.

Of course it couldn't be a happy memory, not when Voldemort had forced his way into the house and murdered Lily and James, but how could it be a _bad_ memory, when it was – as far as Sirius knew - the only memory Harry had of his parents? He'd treasure it for that alone, and hate it for the rest, and Sirius understood that only too well, because it was uncannily close to the way he felt whenever Peter popped up in one of his own memories.

Sirius wondered how much detail Harry had seen it in – probably a lot, given how long the Dementors had stuck around for – and wondered if he'd ever know for sure. It wasn't the sort of thing he could see Harry sharing.

_But he could have at least explained what the memory was, _Sirius thought. _If anyone's got any hope of understanding..._ Sirius had even seen James and Lily die – once as a Boggart (only James, though), and millions of times in his dreams in Azkaban – and he'd seen their real bodies, when he arrived at the cottage too late. Harry knew about the latter – the former wasn't something that Sirius had ever felt comfortable sharing, or thought Harry would want to hear.

Maybe Harry thought he _wouldn't_ understand... or perhaps he was trying to spare Sirius from the horrors of that night. It would be a very Harry-ish thing to do. Or maybe it was the opposite. Maybe, he was scared that Sirius would ask questions. Sirius glanced over and Harry looked away at once, almost fearfully and Sirius decided it was a combination of all three – and maybe more things he hadn't even thought of.

_I wouldn't ask him what happened, though, would I?_ Sirius was ashamed to admit he didn't know the answer to that. He'd managed to build a reasonable guess of Halloween's sequence of events; he'd seen the state of the cottage, James in the hallway, his wand on the couch in the next room and Lily's in the kitchen, while Lily herself had been upstairs in the ruined nursery. He'd accepted that – as well informed as he was, and as logical as his guesses were – he'd never know exactly what had happened. No one would. But now, someone did.

And it meant Sirius could have answers, not only to the order of events, but to other things that had been bothering him for years. Had Voldemort killed them straight away or had he toyed with them first? What had their last words been? Had they even tried to defend themselves, or had they given up the moment Voldmort arrived? Had they been scared? Had they been angry? Had they blamed Sirius for trusting Peter, who'd betrayed them? Sirius would give his left hand to know, but he'd give up his _wand_ hand before he ever asked Harry for those answers.

It was well after one, but Sirius didn't think he'd be sleeping tonight after all. He looked at Harry again, and this time, Harry just looked back. Sirius didn't know what his face looked like, but somehow it reassured Harry; his young face relaxed and Sirius felt the last of the barrier between them disintegrate.

Harry slid out of his bed and came to curl up next to Sirius. Sirius was reasonably sure he was crying, but it was hard to know for certain, because Harry promptly buried his face in Sirius' robes, the way he had when they'd visited Godric's Hollow on Halloween. Sirius wrapped an arm around his godson's shaking shoulders and used his other hand to tuck the blankets around him. Harry settled surprisingly quickly, and was soon muttering nonsense – real nonsense, not nightmare nonsense – into the quiet cell again.

But, despite the fact that Harry wasn't having another bad dream, that Sirius was reasonably comfortable – though perhaps in danger of falling off the narrow bed – and very tired, sleep didn't come for Sirius that night.

* * *

"It's nice of you to join us, Madam Umbridge," Lucius said politely, as Umbridge closed the office door. It was an office that was only used when senior members of the Wizengamot wanted to confer before, after – and occasionally during – a trial. He'd used it as a meeting place during his Death Eater days, and since the Dark Lord fell, he'd used it when he needed to meet privately in the Ministry. It served its purpose well, since no one ever came this deep, and those that did generally only passed through.

"Mr Malfoy," she said sweetly. "Cornelius." She didn't greet Dawlish, and Lucius could tell how much that irked the Auror.

"Dolores," Fudge said nervously. "Have a seat, my dear."

"Thank you," she said primly, pulling up the seat beside Lucius. She looked a little apprehensive; Lucius had been breathing down the back of her neck for a week, trying to get her to discredit Black because he - Lucius - wanted Potter under his control. Hogwarts was only a year and a half away and Lucius suspected they'd need as much time as they could get to change Potter, and also to change Draco back. Umbridge was a practical woman, though and knew that Lucius was the one who made things happen - not her beloved Fudge.

"Thank you for coming," Fudge said. His hat sat on the dusty desk now, and he was wringing a handkerchief instead. "I suppose you all want to know why I've asked you here?" Dawlish perked up and Lucius managed to stop his snort just in time; the man lived for praise.

"I had wondered," Lucius said, adopting a curious expression. It was painfully obvious that Fudge was struggling with the burdens of being Minister - for the millionth time in his year-long reign - and needed help. He'd probably already written to Dumbledore - a bad habit that both Lucius and Umbridge were trying to wean him off of - and had now called in those he considered loyal to help him puzzle it out.

"I need help," Fudge admitted. Both Umbridge and Dawlish looked as if they'd expected it, and the three of them shared a long-suffering look that was missed by the preoccupied Minister.

"It's a wonder you've made it this long," Lucius said, mustering his smarmiest look. "A lesser man wouldn't have lasted an hour under the pressure you've been carrying." Fudge puffed his chest out, looking cheered. Lucius hid a grimace; he didn't think Fudge's astounding composure was anything to admire. He thought it was that Fudge genuinely hadn't realised how much of a mess he'd made of an already difficult situation. The man had an ability to delude himself into believing things were perfectly fine.

It was useful - Lucius wouldn't have anywhere near as much control over him if he wasn't so oblivious – but it was also irritating, because it required a lot more work on Lucius' part. Frankly, if Lucius had wanted to be the Minister, he already would be.

"Well said, Mr Malfoy," Dawlish said, nodding. Umbridge shot Lucius a dirty look – perhaps upset that she hadn't been the one to comfort Fudge – and then clasped her hands in her lap, waiting. Lucius imagined her expression was similar to a toad's might be when it was waiting for a fly, though he couldn't be sure; he refused to let the Manor's pond be home to any of the creatures.

"It's Black," Fudge said, looking miserable again. Lucius' lip curled, Umbridge made a noise – a croak? Lucius wondered, smirking – and Dawlish growled.

"Bloody Black," Dawlish said, suddenly furious. "He's won Scrimgeour over now, the menace! He didn't die when the Dementors came to see him, and now all of a sudden he's respected and _trusted_. I'd like to hex the moron responsible for that little stunt – send them right off to Azkaban with Black, I say!" Umbridge's face soured at that, which Lucius thought was interesting. He tucked his suspicions away for later use.

"Bones and Rattler too – I still think you made a mistake giving up your job thirteen years ago when you went to play Auror," Umbridge said irately, her bulging eyes fixed on Dawlish. So did Lucius – Dawlish, at least, had been corruptible. His successors Crouch – who'd held the position until two years ago – and now Bones and Rattler, were entirely too professional, which was good for the Ministry, but bad for Lucius.

Dawlish flushed and said, "I don't _play_! And I'm well on track to replace Scrimgeour when he messes up-"

"Scrimgeour's been Head of the Auror Department since Charlus Potter died." Lucius had been so relieved at the time, but Scrimgeour, unfortunately, had proven himself every bit as capable as Potter had ever been. "He's had thirteen years to 'mess up', Dawlish, and it's yet to happen. I'd hope for his retirement, personally." Dawlish flushed again; he was the same age as Scrimgeour and doubtless didn't like the reminder. "Or perhaps not..." Lucius added slyly.

"Very capable, Scrimgeour, yes," Fudge said distractedly. He had his hat again. "But if he keeps supporting Black... might have to step in...doesn't look good, doesn't look good at all." Dawlish was positively grinning; there was no question that he'd be promoted to Head Auror if Scrimgeour was forced aside. The Auror Department would doubtless want to promote someone like Robards or that lunatic Moody, but Fudge would have the final say, and Fudge would do what Lucius told him to, and appoint Dawlish.

"So, Black?" Umbridge prompted.

"It's been a week and we can't keep him down there forever."

"It would be nice, though," Lucius muttered. Fudge chuckled, but he looked worried.

"I don't know what to do; I'd send him right back to Azkaban if I could, but he's got Potter and we can't take Potter from him without a trial. Even if we could, those vultures at the _Prophet_ would be all over it, calling us cowards and Scrimgeour and Bones wouldn't let me just-"

"You're the Minister for Magic!" Umbridge said indignantly. "You should be allowed to do whatever you like!"

"It doesn't work like that," Fudge said, wringing his hat – Lucius imagined it was going to look rather out-of-shape by the time they were finished here. "I can't- _people_-" Fudge offered no more explanation than that, but expected them all to understand.

"I say send Black back to Azkaban on the next available Portkey," Umbridge said. "You're the Minister. Everyone else will accept your decision."

"Scrimgeour wouldn't let that happen," Dawlish said, shaking his head.

"Cornelius is the Minister-"

"And Scrimgeour is Head Auror," Lucius said, exasperated. "Yes," he said, cutting Umbridge off, "his ultimate loyalty is to the Ministry and to yourself, Minister, but at present, Black is in _Auror_ custody and I doubt Scrimgeour will take it well if you start meddling in his Department."

"Scrimgeour needs to be reminded of who's in control, then," Fudge muttered.

"Undoubtedly," Lucius agreed. "But not right now, when so much rests on Black and his fate."

"What do you suggest then, Mr Malfoy?" Umbridge asked, and Lucius smiled, satisfied; they were hanging off his every word.

"That we give Black his trial." Three incredulous pairs of eyes latched onto his face, and Lucius basked in the attention.

"I'd be a laughing stock- _Prophet _fodder!" Fudge stammered, aghast.

"You don't honestly think there's any chance of Black being proven innocent?" Lucius asked, disbelievingly. "Even if he had Dumbledore on his side, all the facts point to Black being responsible for the Potters' murders."

"Doesn't have a Mark," Fudge said, making Lucius awkwardly aware of his own, though the room's other occupants seemed to have forgotten, thankfully.

"True," Lucius admitted, "but we know Black must have been the Secret Keeper. He was James Potter's best friend – Harry Potter's godfather! Even if Black says he wasn't the Secret Keeper, who is there that can support his claim? The Potters? He killed them!" Pettigrew certainly wasn't going to show up and even if he did, somehow, grow a conscience, Lucius would forcibly stop him from going. Pettigrew knew too much. "Black can't get off without evidence, even if he manages to invent a plausible explanation for his actions." And Black's only evidence was Pettigrew.

"So Black's convicted-" Dawlish began thoughtfully.

"-and sent right back to Azkaban," Lucius said. "The Ministry will look good for giving that criminal the chance to have his say – it'll shut Black up, because once he's had his trial, he can't very well ask for another one – and the wizarding public will feel safer."

"And if he escapes again?" Dawlish asked, and Fudge looked like he might faint. "Then what?"

"He'll be questioned, of course. Once he's convicted, the Ministry has every right to use whatever means they deem necessary to extract answers, be that by Veritaserum, Legillimency, or by any other method of interrogation. Once we have the answers, measures can be taken to prevent his escape." Dawlish was nodding, and Lucius swooped in to deal the final blow. "Of course, if we play this properly, we can take Scrimgeour down with him."

"How?" Dawlish and Fudge asked together.

"Simple," Lucius said, smirking. "Speak to one of the _Prophet's _reporters tomorrow, once the date's been set for the trial. Express your... concerns that Scrimgeour's grown close to the case, and rather friendly with Black, and that you hope the trial will be a fair one, in spite of that. The reporters will do the rest." Dawlish was nodding again, and Fudge looked impressed. "When Black's convicted, you, Minister, will then have every right to demote Scrimgeour for his unprofessional approach."

"I like it," Dawlish announced, and Fudge nodded.

_Of course you do, _Lucius thought smugly. "A guilty ruling for Black is enough to nullify his guardianship of the Potter boy-"

"He'll still be in the hands of his aunt, then," Umbridge said. "She filled out the forms before Black-"

"The muggle will lose all credibility when Black's convicted. No doubt Dumbledore will try to play that card, but Potter clearly won't be safe in the hands of a woman who was prepared to pass him to Black. Find him a good home, Dolores, and people will quickly forget that you let him be given to Black in the first place." Umbridge looked determined to save her reputation, just as Lucius had expected. She'd be willing to participate in this.

"I can only see one problem with this," Dawlish said.

"Oh?" Lucius asked.

"Well," Dawlish said, "once the plans for the trial are announced, Black, by law, needs to be kept in isolation." That was to ensure he wasn't able to corrupt his guards, or enchant them, Lucius knew. Dementors were used.

"We'll sort something out," Fudge said, looking flustered.

"We'll have to," Dawlish muttered. "Black _should_ have been kept in isolation from the very beginning."

"He was," Fudge said pitifully. "But then he got Potter and we had to take Black out of isolation to keep Potter safe-"

"Arrangements still should have been made," Dawlish said curtly. "Isolation's necessary before a trial-"

"He wasn't going to get a trial!" Fudge bellowed, his face a horrible purplish colour. He looked extremely embarrassed. "That's the problem here! We haven't been following Ministry procedure because we needed people in there to protect Potter, and to try to find some sort of evidence that Black should go right back to Azkaban."

"And how's that working out?" Dawlish muttered, obviously embarrassed that Fudge had shouted at him.

"Poorly, because now he's getting a trial and he'll be difficult – of that I have no doubts whatsoever!"

"It's not too late to repair the damage," Lucius said smoothly. "We just need to take the appropriate steps."

"We need incorruptible guards, not Scrimgeour and his lot!" Umbridge agreed. "_Especially, _once the trial's announced and Black needs to be isolated. The Dementors-"

"Dementors are out of the question with Potter down there," Lucius said, shaking his head.

"Yes, but meanwhile, Black's gathering supporters!" Fudge said, looking alarmed by the idea. "We can't very well take away the Aurors and leave Potter alone with Black-"

"Scrimgeour'd tell you otherwise," Dawlish muttered.

"Perhaps, then, we need to take Potter out," Lucius said, pleased they'd reached this, the final and most important part of his plan. "It seems to me that the problem in all of this is Potter; the Aurors won't be allowed down there once Black's in isolation, but Potter can't be left unguarded, and neither can he be left down there with Dementors."

"Black won't let Potter out of his sight," Umbridge said, rolling her eyes.

"He might if it means he gets his trial," Lucius said. "Black was an Auror – he'll understand the isolation law. Besides, it'll only be _temporary, _as far as Black's concerned. He'll get Potter back once he's proven his innocence."

"Which'll never happen," Umbridge said. "But what do you suggest we do with Potter in the meantime?"

"There's always Bones' office again," Dawlish said, but that idea was discarded immediately. Everyone lapsed into thought, but it didn't escape Lucius' notice that all eyes were on him, waiting for another good idea. Lucius pretended to think – he'd had the solution to this before arriving at the Ministry that morning, but he didn't want it to look that way – and then frowned thoughtfully.

"The Potter boy will stay with me, of course."

* * *

"Severus," Dumbledore said jovially, as Severus was let into the cell by an Auror whose name he didn't know. Potter looked up – he and Rattler were throwing a ball back and forward,while the Headmaster shuffled Exploding Snap cards. Potter mumbled a hello and then snapped his hand up, just in time to catch the ball.

"Wonderful," Black groused, from over on the beds. "Twice in two days – aren't we _lucky_."

"I was going to say the same," Severus said, taking in Black's appearance. He was pale and the shadows under his eyes were more pronounced than they had been the day before.

"You came to us," Black said irritably. And a short temper. Any doubts Severus had harboured - about whether Black had told him the truth about being a monster like Lupin - vanished. And it seemed, since Black was still in here, that everyone else was oblivious.

"Are you feeling quite well, Black?" Severus asked, hoping Black would just admit to his condition. That way, the Aurors could take the steps they needed to, and ensure Potter's safety, as well as their own. Black's irritation gave way to confusion.

"What do you care, Sniv-" Potter cleared his throat and Black pulled a face in the boy's direction. "-Snape?" Obviously, if Black and Potter were back to their face-pulling familiarity, they'd mended whatever problem had been affecting them lately.

"Lupin's ill at the moment too, as I understand it," Severus said, and Black seemed to think for a moment before grimacing. "I was wondering if that's mere coincidence, or if it's the same ailment, perhaps?" Potter had paused to listen; the ball hit his shoulder and bounced off. Rattler retrieved it, while Black's eyes followed it across the floor before lifting to meet Severus'. "We wouldn't want Potter to contract anything in Ministry custody, would we?"

"I don't think not sleeping is contagious," Black said, and Severus stared at him, somewhat disappointed.

"The cause might be," he sneered, and then jumped as the cards Dumbledore was shuffling exploded. "Honestly," he said, extinguishing the Headmaster's beard with a wave of his wand.

"Are you concerned for the boy, Severus?" Dumbledore asked, collecting his cards.

_Yes!_ Severus wanted to shout. _In a few short hours, Black's going to be a physical monster – as if his brutish mental side wasn't enough – and Potter's going to be stuck in here with him! _If his promises – to himself, to Dumbledore, and to Lily's grave weren't enough incentive to keep the boy safe, then the thought of a furious Narcissa Malfoy was more than enough. A dead Potter would ruin her plans.

The ball slipped out of Rattler's hands and rolled toward Black, who promptly pounced on it. It was disturbingly canine, and Severus' worry increased.

"Er... Padfoot?" Potter said, looking torn between shock and laughter. Black tossed the ball at Rattler and sat down again, looking sheepish.

"Might I have a word with Potter?" Severus heard himself ask. "Alone?"

"Severus-?" Dumbledore began, as Black glanced at Potter. Potter shrugged, but his eyes were wide, almost fearful.

"I'll be brief," Severus said, gesturing for the brat to follow.

"You can't take the boy," Scrimgeour said. Both he and the other Auror were frowning.

"I have no desire to keep him," Severus sneered.

"Talk in here," Scrimgeour insisted. "We'll leave-"

"And take Black with you, I suppose?" Severus said. They all exchanged uncomfortable looks. "I thought as much. You may be content to spend time alone with him, but I am not and I refuse to have him present while I speak with Potter."

"Harry can go," Black said slowly. "I'm a prisoner but that doesn't mean Harry can't leave." Scrimgeour looked ready to protest. "I'm his guardian," Black said, arching an eyebrow. "You'd better be quick, though," he warned, and Snape nodded. "And if you do anything to upset him, I swear to Merlin I'll-"

"Cause me bodily harm, I'm sure," Severus said, rolling his eyes. "Come, Potter."

"Severus, just what-" Knowing he'd regret it later, Severus held the door open for Potter and they both left before Dumbledore could finish articulating his question.

"Potter!?" the Auror on guard outside the cell exclaimed. "Mr Snape-"

"It is _Professor_ Snape, Miss Dale," Severus snapped; he'd taught the girl for seven years and she still couldn't get his title right.

"Are you allowed to take the boy?" the Auror in charge of Dale asked, standing. His hand hovered over his pocket, where his wand undoubtedly rested.

"By all means check," Severus snapped, and once the other trainee – Hill was his name – had confirmed it with Scrimgeour, Dale and the other Auror stepped aside to let them through.

"So," Potter said, as they entered the lift. "What's this about, sir?" Severus said nothing until they were past the third set of Aurors – who also wanted to question them – and upstairs, on Level Ten. Severus couldn't hear anyone, but he knew from experience that that didn't always mean they were alone. He cast a silent charm to detect the nearest person and it was triggered by a group of four down the corridor, but they were far enough away that he wouldn't need to worry about them. "Sir?" Potter said.

"Potter," Severus said irritably. "As I have brought you up here to talk to you, do you really expect that I will not do so?"

"Er... no?" Potter said, looking confused.

"Then kindly wait for me to start the conversation in my own time." Potter watched him with an odd expression and then started off down the corridor. "Where are you going?"

"I'm just stretching my legs," Potter said over his shoulder. "I won't go far, I promise."

"So you say," Severus said, just loud enough for Potter to hear.

Potter put his hands in his pockets – Severus heard something, like parchment in one of them – and then fixed those green eyes on Severus. They had an uncanny, Dumbledore-like sparkle in them. "Since I came up here to listen to you, do you really think I'm not going to?"

_Why you insolent, little- _Severus closed his eyes and retreated a few steps into his mind to inhale the fumes of a Calming Drought he had brewing in his head – it was a mental relaxation technique he'd developed recently, to help him deal with the Weasley twins. He let out a deep breath and opened his eyes. Potter was waiting patiently, eyes still gleaming. Severus' lip curled.

"I won't tolerate your cheek," Severus told him. Potter pushed his glasses up, waiting, and Severus gave in. "I wanted to speak to you about Black's condition."

"What condition?" Potter asked blankly. Severus was losing patience very quickly.

"His lycanthropy," Severus hissed, throwing his hands up in the air.

"His- oh," Potter said, his mouth quirking up. "That." Severus closed his eyes and mentally drank a cup of the Calming Drought. He counted to ten and then opened his eyes.

"Yes," he said stiffly. "_That._ What do you intend to do about it?"

"Not much," Potter said, shrugging. "It shouldn't be a problem."

"Not a- idiot boy! Black is enough of a monster when he's in his right mind!" Potter's face darkened. "He will be unable to control himself once the moon rises and the fact that Black's your godfather will _not_ keep you safe!"

"It'll be fine," Potter said, obviously still annoyed by the monster comment. "And if you wouldn't mind, I'd like to go back to-"

"Your father was the same," Severus spat, his control snapping. "He trusted Black – thought Black could do no wrong, that he'd never hurt anyone – but Black was the one who picked Pettigrew, remember, Potter? Black is capable of murder-" Severus knew that only too well. "-more so tonight than any other night-"

"He's not going to hurt me!" Potter said angrily, but his face was grey. Severus felt a twinge of guilt. Potter was just a boy- Potter's boy, though. The guilt faded. "I'm going back downstairs," Potter told him.

_Why doesn't he understand that I'm trying to protect him!?_

"Downstairs to get yourself killed!" Severus strode forward and grabbed Potter's wrist. Potter seemed too startled to do anything about it. Severus would keep the boy overnight – it was the only option. He'd tell them all that Potter confessed his fear of Black during their talk and Severus took him away to protect him. It wasn't all that far from the truth. "Let's go." He tugged on Potter's arm and Potter stumbled after him.

"What- but the- the lift's that way-"

"We're not going back. Not tonight," Severus snapped.

"Padfoot won't hurt me," Potter protested, trying to pull Severus' hand off.

_I hope you appreciate this, Lily, _Severus thought, gritting his teeth. "This is not up for discussion." Potter said a word that he _must_ have learned from Black. "Say that in my hearing again, and I'll _Scourgify_ your tongue," he said.

"Sirius isn't a werewolf!" Potter yelled, digging in his heels. Severus stopped and released Potter.

"I beg your pardon?" Severus asked, his lip curling. Potter glared up at him, red-faced, and rubbed his wrist.

"You heard-"

"Severus?"

"Harry?!" Severus turned to see Fudge, Lucius and Umbridge striding toward them. Another person had disappeared around the corner at the end of the corridor.

"Hi, Minister," Potter said, sounding resigned. "Madam Umbridge, Mr Malfoy."

"This is most unusual," Lucius said, arching an eyebrow at Severus.

"The boy's aunt wanted me to give him a message," Severus said. It was the first thing that came to mind and he was a good enough liar that they believed him.

"What message?" Umbridge asked nosily.

"If it was for you to hear, I'd tell you," Severus said, curling his lip. Umbridge's face turned the same nasty pink as the rest of her.

"We were just on our way back to the cell," Potter added, his eyes daring Snape to disagree with him.

"We'll take him," Lucius said, bestowing Potter with a wide smile. Potter smiled back distractedly. "We're headed down there right now."

"Sounds good," Potter said, glowering at Snape again.

"I'm not quite done-" Snape began.

"I am," Potter said flatly. "Tell my aunt that I'm happy and safe with P- Sirius and thanks again for bringing the forms."

"Come along then, Harry," Fudge said, patting the boy on the shoulder. The four walked back toward the lift, leaving Severus standing there. Potter glanced back and raised an eyebrow as if to say, 'I win'.

Severus thought he might need to take a bath in the Calming Drought to recover completely, but he settled for another goblet-full. He took another deep breath. _If Potter was telling the truth, and not just trying to make me let go... _Severus couldn't decide if he'd be more relieved, or more infuriated that he'd been lied to in the first place. If Potter had been lying... _No one can say I didn't try, _he thought grimly. _Potter's death will be because of his own stubborn, misguided trust, and I refuse to have that on my conscience._

* * *

"You came back," Fenrir breathed, dragging himself along the floor of his cell to the barred wall. She was there again, and looked more composed than she had last time, though a little ill; the moon was set to rise in a mere few hours.

"Apparently," she said, brushing a patch of dirt off the front of her robes. Her voice was a little hoarse.

"You've come to free me, haven't you?" Fenrir asked, almost bursting with excitement at the thought. He'd never admit it, but he was afraid of what would happen when the moon rose tonight; the Dementors would steal any control he had, and in the confines of his tiny cell without his pack to keep him company... it was the first time the moon had ever brought him fear and not just savage delight.

"I told you before that I want you to rot," she said coolly, and it took him a moment to process that.

"But you've changed your mind, haven't you? You've come to save your father. Such a good daughter... such a good-"

"Shut up," she said, edging away from the cell. She looked disgusted, and it sent dagger through him. "I still want you to rot."

"So... so you're going to leave me here?" he asked. "With them – with the Dementors?"

"No," she said. "I've been thinking."

"About me?" he asked, reaching out to her through the bars. His fingernail brushed the bottom of her robes before she kicked his hand away.

"About you," she agreed, nodding. He withdrew his hand and she came closer. He could touch her if he reached out, but didn't dare. It took him a moment to realise he was afraid of her. That made her laugh, and it wasn't a nice sound. He wondered if she'd smelled it. "_Evanesco_," she said, vanishing the small bed and his bedding.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"_Argentum_," she said, flicking her wand at the toilet, partly concealed by a waist-level wall - in the corner. It began to shine and Fenrir felt another prickle of fear.

"What are you doing?" he asked again, and this time, he edged away from her.

"_Argentum,_" she said again, and this time, it was the bars between them that began to shine. Fenrir positioned himself right in the middle of the cell, and watched her warily. The next spell she said was much longer and he didn't catch all of it. The walls and floor of the cell shimmered and for a moment, Fenrir felt like he was in a bubble. Then the feeling faded. He was unharmed, he realised, with a surge of relief.

"What was that?"

"A spell," she said. "One I created." She tucked her wand away and met his gaze. Her eyes were sad, but dry. "You're going to die, _Father_. But before you do, you're going to know what it feels like to be hunted, like I was, and like all of my _siblings_ were. You're going to be scared, and you're going to hurt, and you're going be caught. And then you're going to know what it feels like to lose everything."

"You're going to kill me?" he asked, not understanding. He was her father, her creator. They were family.

"Yes. But I'm going to make you hate everything you are first. You love your wolf, don't you?" Fenrir nodded, and one side of her mouth twisted up into a bitter smile. "I'm going to take your weakness and use it to destroy you." Another gleam caught Fenrir's eye, and he saw one of the bricks on the floor of his cell coat itself in silver.

"What- why'd it do that?" he demanded.

"Because I charmed it to," she told him. "And every minute, another one will change." Fenrir looked at the floor and did a rough count of the bricks. Every minute... he had a few hours until the entire floor was covered. He looked up at her and saw her watching him – something told him that she knew the conclusions he'd reached. "Once the floor's done, it'll start on the walls and the roof," she said matter-of-factly.

"But-" Fenrir paused as another brick changed. "Someone'll notice."

"Do you really think so?" she asked, sadly. He didn't – the Dementors were blind, and the human guards would be keeping well away from his cell tonight because of the full moon.

"I thought you were supposed to be good," he said desperately. "You're one of _them_."

"I am," she said quietly. "But I was a monster first, thanks to you."

"Please," he said, edging forward a bit. If she came close enough, he'd grab her wand. Subdue her. He was stronger than she was, even after a week and a half in Azkaban.

"I'll see you in hell, Father," she whispered. A fourth brick turned silver as she turned and walked away.


	50. Trying Times And Trials

"Eurgh," Tonks said, wrinkling her nose. "You'd have to be thick to think you _hadn't _been poisoned when it tastes like that!" She set the empty phial down and Gutnich – the Auror supervising her this morning – chuckled.

"This one's nasty," he agreed. "But concentrate. What do you feel?"

"Dizzy," Tonks said. "Tired – that could just be because it's seven and we've already been at this for hours-"

"Concentrate," he sighed.

"Keep your hair on," she muttered, but he didn't seem to hear her. "Dizzy," she said again, shifting so her back was to the wall. "And sort of sick. Achy. And my eyes are itchy."

"Good," he said, and his voice sounded strange. "Can you suggest-" She didn't catch the end of whatever it was he'd said.

"Hmm?" she asked blearily.

"An antidote," he said.

"Symptoms are pretty general," she said, rubbing her eyes. "Pretty much anything should work."

"Name one."

"Antidote for Common Poisons," she managed to say.

"Good," he told her but she felt too faint to feel any pride. "Name an ingredient."

"Bezoar?" she asked.

"Are you asking me or telling me?"

"Telling," she said, trying to sound like she knew what she was talking about.

"Run," he told her.

"What?" She squinted at him through her puffy eyes – which she couldn't seem to fix, even with her abilities.

"Run!" he bellowed and she got unsteadily to her feet. "Around the room until you can't go anymore, and then pull your wand out and hold a Shield Charm for as long as possible."

Tonks stumbled forward, forcing her feet to move. Other trainees were running too – Tonks staggered past Edwards and Brown with a grunted hello – Edwards was feeling her way along the wall, apparently blind, and Brown was gasping, apparently struggling to breathe.

Next thing Tonks knew, she was lying down on a conjured bed, while a Healer fussed over her.

"Bloody ridiculous," her Healer said, forcing a bottle of something into her hand. Her eyes were so puffy she couldn't read the label. "Absolutely barmy, every single one of you. Drink that." She swallowed it – it tasted a bit like orange juice – and blinked a few times, her vision returning to normal. "Better?"

"Yeah, thanks," she said.

"Another one's down, sir," a younger Healer – only a trainee, Tonks thought – said, looking mildly amused by his mentor's agitation. Her Healer cursed under his breath, and tossed another bottle at Tonks before stalking away in a flurry of lime green to help Patel. Tonks gulped down the second potion – this one was unpleasantly like drinking sea water – and then hopped off the bed and made her way back to Gutnich.

"Wotcher," she said; McKinnon and Florence had taken her place and McKinnon seemed to be sampling a poison. She was surprised to see them both – Florence hadn't come in at all yesterday; she was still taking Melvin's death quite hard, Ben had told her, and McKinnon had been skipping lessons lately too. McKinnon was sad about Melvin, but Tonks didn't think that's what was bothering her. Something else was up.

"All right, Tonks?" Gutnich said.

"Fine," Tonks said, though her mouth still tasted funny. "When'd you two get here?" she asked Florence.

"Ten minutes ago," Florence said, shrugging.

"Sleep in again?" Tonks asked, sympathetically; Florence always slept in – it wasn't uncommon for her to miss a training session every week – but she'd been missing more recently because of Melvin. She hadn't said anything, but Tonks thought it was safe to assume she hadn't been sleeping well; she certainly looked worn out.

"It's ridiculous," Florence muttered, as McKinnon tottered over toward the Healers, looking distinctly green. "I mean, really, whose bright idea was it to schedule a training at four in the morning?"

"Is that a yes?" Tonks asked, amused by her irritation.

"_Yes, _I slept in," Florence grumbled, "but what do they expect? Four in the morning is uncivilised!"

"We're going to be Aurors," Tonks reminded her, through a rather poorly timed yawn. "Constant vigilance and all that."

"Ridiculous," Florence said.

"You know what's ridiculous?" Gutnich said, rapping them both over the head with his wand. "Your current lack of attention. For the second time, Prewett, pick a poison. There's only half an hour left and you haven't tried anything yet." Florence picked up a phial containing a sludgy, bright purple mixture and uncorked it. She sniffed it and wrinkled her nose, before holding it up.

"Cheers," she said, pulling a face.

The poison rendered her blind in about a minute, but she seemed remarkably relaxed about the whole thing, and managed to walk around the room once – though she did collide rather spectacularly with Yaxley, who was suffering poison-induced hallucinations and had a panic attack – and was able to locate and administer the correct antidote upon arriving back.

McKinnon had returned too by that point and was talking quietly to Tonks. Any walls they'd broken down in the months they'd been trainees together were back up, however; she seemed as abrupt and detached as ever, and it frustrated Tonks to no end.

"I'm glad that's over," Tonks said, as she, Florence, McKinnon, Ben and Yaxley – who'd been more or less inseparable since the Dementor attack in the holding cells – left through the broom cupboard exit. Tonks could think of far worse outcomes to the Dementor incident than spending time with Yaxley, and since Yaxley'd either revised her opinion of Tonks since school, or was at least able to keep her opinions to herself, Tonks was more than willing to tolerate her.

"Same," Ben groaned, itching absently at a lump on his neck – his poison had caused him to break out in hives.

Florence – still blinking and readjusting to being able to see again - muttered, "I don't know about you lot, but I'll be climbing straight back into bed – for a few hours at least." She and Tonks were on Sirius and Harry duty that afternoon, with Shacklebolt.

"Same," Yaxley said, laughing, and then looked sheepish, as if she'd realised what she'd just said, and who she'd said it too. Tonks caught Ben's eye and they both laughed, effectively breaking the tension. It was a little forced, but no one seemed to notice. McKinnon attempted to laugh a few seconds too late and the tension came rushing back.

Tonks was just searching for something to say – Ben appeared to be doing the same – when Mad-Eye poked his head out of his office and called Tonks over.

"I'll see you lot tonight," she said. Florence hugged her, Yaxley smiled awkwardly, McKinnon nodded and Ben mouthed, "Can I come too?"

"Nymphadora," Mad-Eye said, as she shut the door.

"_Sir_," she said, folding her arms. He looked troubled, though, and her glare softened. "Is something wrong? Did Sirius-"

"Greyback's dead," he said, looking grim.

After Mad-Eye'd filled her in on the details – which were quite horrific and made her feel queasy – and arranged for her to come around to be briefed on their new case, he dismissed her. Tonks went home. Mum was at work , so she Apparated straight into the house – startling Dad, who upended his porridge on Canis – and trudged down the hall to her bedroom. She threw on a change of clothes – her current robes had a lingering poisonous odour that she didn't like and didn't think Remus would appreciate – packed a bag, and Disapparated to Remus' doorstep.

"Remus?" she called softly, knocking on the door.

"Oh, yes, be quiet now after you've just made a lot of noise Apparating," he called, and then added, "I'm not opening the door. Let yourself in if you really have to." Fighting a smile – she hadn't seen Remus this early after a full moon before, and his grouchy attitude was so foreign to her – she opened the door and stepped inside. "I'm in here," he added, and she spotted him sitting at the kitchen table.

One leg was propped up on a chair, bleeding steadily from a nasty wound on his ankle, and his t-shirt was slung over the back of that same chair. His back and shoulders were covered in long scratches and so, she could now see, were his arms. There was a massive book open on the table, propped up against a small, bubbling cauldron, and Remus had bandages draped all over his lap, the floor and what little space was left on the table.

"Horrible, isn't it?" he asked, without looking up.

_It's just a bit of blood, _she told herself, and took a moment to make sure her voice wouldn't shake. "I brought chocolate," she offered. He lifted an arm and gingerly waved her over. She sat down on his right, with her back to the kitchen bench and glanced at the cauldron, which had an inky blue potion bubbling away inside it. "What's in there?"

"A bit of everything," he said, peering over the book – which was on healing magic – to look at it. "It should speed up the healing, reduce scarring, and replenish a bit of blood." He picked up a bottle of Dittany and dribbled it onto a cut on his forearm. It sizzled and closed, leaving a very faint mark.

"Rough night, then?" she asked. He rolled his eyes, not bothering to answer. Instead of being offended, she was amused. "Do you want help?" He grunted and relinquished the Dittany. "There's not much here," she said, frowning.

"Really?" he asked sarcastically. She bristled, and he must have sensed it – or maybe smelled it – because he sighed and said, "I know. This is the first time I've had to use my own healing supplies in months. I didn't realise I was running low."

"St Mungo's?"

"What?" Tonks stepped around him and came to kneel down beside his injured leg.

"Do you usually go to St Mungo's?" She pushed his pyjama pant out of the way – cringing a bit, because it was soaked in blood – and tried to decide where to start.

"Oh," he said. "No." He hesitated and then said, "A friend of mine fixes me up. He always uses his own stuff."

"And he didn't come today?" she asked, frowning. She squeezed a few drops of Dittany onto Remus' ankle and suspected it hurt a lot more than he let on; his hands curled into fists and his lips whitened, but that was it.

"No," he said, sounding completely normal. She added a few more drops.

"He couldn't spare a few minutes to come and help you?" she asked, frowning; Remus deserved better than that.

"It's not his fault!" Remus snapped, and Tonks was taken aback by his vehemence. They sat in silence – Tonks a little stunned, Remus fuming – and then Tonks resumed her healing work. Remus, apparently taken by surprise, hissed out a few words she'd never have expected him to say and then managed to compose himself.

"Sorry," she said, grimacing. She examined his ankle, which was covered in drying blood and still looked a bit red beneath that, but it had scarred over.

"It's fine," he muttered, wriggling his ankle.

"How's it feel?"

"Better." Applying Dittany wasn't difficult, but she still felt rather proud of her newfound healing skills. She stood up and moved around to stand behind him. "Start with the worst ones," he said, so she did.

"I've run out," she said, reaching around his shoulder – she made her arm grow a bit – to show him the empty bottle.

"I don't suppose you know any healing charms?" he asked.

"Erm, no, sorry." She'd never had to worry with healing charms because she could simply grow skin over any cuts she got. Anything worse than that and Mum would panic and drag her to St Mungo's.

"Damn," he said.

"Sorry." He shrugged. "I can clean them for you, though."

"I'm already contaminated," he said. She swatted his head, and he turned around, scowling. "Your bedside manner needs work."

"I'm an Auror, not a Healer," she said with dignity.

"You're a trainee," he corrected. She shook her head, fighting a smile and conjured a cloth and warm water. Then she went and fetched salt from one of the kitchen cupboards and added a few pinches of that. She finished his back and then made him look at her while she cleaned the cut on his forehead. She accidentally got salt water in his eye, and she also tangled herself up in bandages as she attempted to cover the wound, but eventually she managed to cocoon the top of his head entirely.

"Done," she said, and then snorted; it looked a bit like he was wearing a bulky, white turban. Remus prodded the bandages and sighed, but the corner of his mouth was twitching. "Is that a smile, Remus?" she asked.

"Definitely not," he said seriously, but a small smile had settled on his face. Tonks found herself grinning back, at least until she remembered the real reason for her visit. Her smile faded and Remus looked worried. "Did I say som-"

"No," she assured him. "I- er... I've got some news for you, and I'm not quite sure how you're going to take it."

"I see," he said evenly.

"How about that chocolate?" she said cheerily, grabbing her rucksack. Remus' eyes brightened when she pulled out the block and passed it to him, but then he frowned. He looked at it, and then looked at her and sighed.

"This is a bad idea," he said, passing it back.

"What?" she asked, not sure what he meant, but she was sure that she didn't like his serious tone.

"I haven't had breakfast yet, so if you give me that, you won't be getting any."

"Oh." Tonks laughed and Remus gave her an odd look, obviously wondering what _she'd _thought he meant. Tonks didn't know what she'd thought, and would have welcomed his opinion on the matter, but he didn't give one. He just leaned back, adjusting his turban – a loop of bandage had escaped and was dangling over his eye – and gave her a small, slightly troubled smile. She snapped two rows of chocolate off and kept them for herself before offering Remus the rest; he'd need it more than she did once he heard about Greyback, and he probably needed the sugar after last night.

He ate some of it right away – grinning the whole time, apparently unable to help himself – and then he poured the contents of his little cauldron into a teacup and gulped that down. Tonks wrinkled her nose.

"Multipurpose healing potion and chocolate?" she asked, arching an eyebrow. "I'll bet that's an appetising combination."

"It's the breakfast of champions," he said, with dignity as he devoured another row of chocolate. Tonks nibbled on her own piece, amused. "So, what's this news?" Tonks opened her mouth, closed it and then steeled herself.

_Just spit it out, _a voice in the back of her head told her. It sounded a bit like Mad-Eye. "Greyback's dead." Remus froze. She'd expected a reaction – laughing, or yelling, or at least disbelief – but he just sat very still. He didn't even look shocked, just blank.

"Remus?" she asked, tapping lightly on the side of his bandaged head. Abruptly, his eyes focused and he turned to look at her. And there was the reaction she'd been looking for; hope, disbelief, worry, joy, confusion and a million other things flitted across his face. The result was an odd, almost pained expression that made him look like he was either going to burst out laughing or crying.

"How?" he asked hoarsely.

"It was quite... disturbing, apparently. Mad-Eye was shaken; his cell – the bars, the floor, the walls, the roof – even the toilet! – turned to silver. He... er... well... his body-"

"I can imagine," Remus said faintly. "So silver poisoning..." He shook his head. "That's mad! I always imagined he'd- well, I don't know what I imagined, actually, but it wasn't-"

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"I don't- it's strange, trying to wrap my head around it... He's dead!" Remus said, and let out a little, disbelieving laugh. "Do they know who did it?"

"That's my new case," Tonks said, shrugging, and then flushed. "I probably shouldn't have told-"

"I didn't hear a word," Remus promised. He reached up, as if to run his hand through his hair, but rubbed the bandages instead. "Merlin. He's _dead_. Murdered." He still didn't seem able to believe it; in fact, he repeated those words – or variations of those words - to himself for the next few minutes. Tonks was beginning to get worried.

"Remus?" she asked tentatively. "Are you-"

"What a mess," he said, rubbing his eyes, and Tonks was relieved to hear him say something different. "Sirius and Harry are in prison, Greyback's been murdered in Azkaban..." He sighed loudly. "The camp."

"The-"

"The camp," he snapped, obviously impatient. Tonks was momentarily startled, but put it down to Remus still recovering from the full moon. Obviously his emotions were a bit disordered. Or perhaps he was just tired and stressed. "Greyback's camp." He paused and then looked ashamed. "Sorry, I didn't mean to snap-"

"It's fine," Tonks said, brushing his apology away. "What's wrong with the camp?"

"They don't follow wizarding news," Remus said, looking tired. "I doubt they even know he's been arrested – Greyback's pretty much the only person that ever leaves that place, and most of the other people there are so caught up in Greyback's propaganda that they don't care what's going on in the wizarding world. It's unusual but not unheard of for Greyback to be away for a few weeks. They won't even suspect-"

"They must have an inkling, surely?"

Remus snorted and said, "Not likely. Dora, you were there – you saw how much they worshipped him!" She didn't know that she'd quite seen it to that extent, but she'd certainly seen enough to trust Remus' judgement on the matter. "Their _father_ can do no wrong."

"I'll talk to Mad-Eye," she muttered. "I doubt he's thought about that and we'll have to find some way to get them the news..." She paused, thinking. Maybe they could send an owl to someone who lived there – Remus would be willing to give them a name, surely? Or maybe- "What?" she asked. Remus was staring at her like she was missing something obvious.

"I'm practically a ready-made messenger," he said, stunned. "Didn't it even occur to you-"

"You hate it there," Tonks said, a little hurt that he'd expected her to suggest he be the one to go. "I'm not about to ask you to go back, and neither's Mad-Eye."

"Mad-Eye will," Remus said. "He'd be mad not to – it's the quickest way to get them the news and it's got the least chance of going wrong-"

"Least chance?" she asked incredulously. "Remus, from what I saw, you weren't exactly er... popular with the other people living there. If you go marching in saying Greyback's dead, _someone's _going to think you did it."

"They can think whatever they want to," he said wearily. "It's a better alternative than letting them believe the Ministry's behind it."

"But they're not-"

"Azkaban's Ministry territory," Remus said. "That's all that's going to matter as far as they're concerne-"

"So you're not going to tell them how he died?" she asked dubiously. "That makes it pretty damn hard to explain how _you_ know, doesn't it? And if you can't explain it, then they'll _definitely _think you did it!"

"If you've got a better idea then I'd love to hear it," he said tersely. They sat in silence – Tonks was looking for a solution to their problem – and Remus was glaring at the table. "Dora, I'm sorry," he said, looking up after a moment. "I've been a complete git this morning, haven't I?"

"No, of course not," Tonks said quickly. "You're obviously just tired-"

"Dora." Tonk bit her lip and her fringe turned an odd green-pink colour.

"Well, maybe just a little bit," she said apologetically.

"Sorry," he said, rubbing his eyes. "I'm not usually this- actually I am, but usually it doesn't matter." Remus' voice cracked and he planted his elbows on the tabletop and buried his face in his hands

_Because no one else is around, _Tonks finished in her head. "Remus..." He took a few deep breaths, and laughed shakily but didn't look up.

"Godric, I'm a mess this morning," he muttered.

"You're allowed to be," she said. She found a clear patch of skin near his shoulder – one with no fresh injuries – and put her hand on it. He jumped at the contact. "You've just had a bloody terrible night-"

"Worst one in a while," he agreed in muffled voice.

"Greyback's dead-" His shoulder stiffened under her hand. "I know you didn't like him, but-"

"I hated him," he said hoarsely. "I'm glad he's- gone."

"It's still a lot to take in," she said firmly. "And then there's Sirius..." If his shoulder had stiffened before, it was stone now. She could see Remus' jaw trembling and his breaths were shaky. His face was still hidden behind his scarred hands. "You're perfectly justified in being a little... off."

Remus' entire frame was shaking now, and his breaths were coming in sobs. She'd seen him nervous – like when he'd told her about his condition, and when he dealt with Malfoy – she'd seen him worried – like he had been when Greyback attacked Matt, and at the camp, and when Greyback had cornered them in this very cottage not so long ago – she'd seen him sad – like when he'd comforted her after Melvin's death, and like when he talked about the Potters – but she'd never seen him _scared. _He was quite literally breaking down before her eyes. Even his little meltdown at the Ministry after seeing Sirius hadn't been anything like this.

It was so foreign that, for a moment, Tonks had absolutely no idea what to do. That faded almost immediately. She liked to think it was her Hufflepuff instincts kicking in.

She dragged her chair closer to his – she could imagine herself overbalancing and falling off otherwise – and wrapped her arms around him. It was a bit awkward – the edge of the table was digging into her ribs and one of her arms was looped over both of Remus' – he was still leaning on the table, face in his hands – but it was enough.

* * *

The corners of the parchment were already beginning to go soft – Harry'd handled it that much in the last few days. It was obvious Harry hadn't drawn the picture – he'd never shown any interest in drawing before, and didn't have the quill control to produce what was, in Sirius' opinion, no great work of art – he suspected the artist was young – but a decent image nonetheless. As far as style went, anyway; Sirius spared his Quidditch team's coat of arms a sad look – had the artist really _had_ to depict it on fire?

"So who drew it?" Sirius asked.

"One of my friends," Harry said mysteriously, but his whole face lit up and Sirius could smell something close to delirious happiness radiating off him. Sirius thought it was the fact that he had someone to refer to as a friend. Harry hadn't named his friends yet, but Sirius thought that was probably a good idea; he knew Harry must have met them in the Ministry somewhere, and so he suspected their meeting hadn't been entirely legal. It probably wasn't something the Aurors should know about. "I reckon it's brilliant."

"The dragon's not bad," Sirius allowed, and Harry grinned. The dragon's eyes were slightly different sizes, and he almost mentioned this but then thought better of it.

Instead, Sirius' gaze flicked to the door, as it had every few minutes for the last day; instead of Snape – the git - bringing Harry back yesterday Harry'd come back with Fudge, Malfoy and Umbridge. Umbridge and Malfoy had just talked to Harry, while Fudge had said they were considering a trial – _finally_ – and that he'd be back 'later' to discuss the matter further.

It was definitely later and Sirius was still waiting for that visit. He just hoped Fudge hadn't changed his mind. Dora saw him looking in her general direction and her hair turned a deep red. Sirius smiled at her – he wasn't sure what he'd done to make her so angry, but she had her wand in a knot about something this afternoon - and got a scowl back in return.

Sirius looked away, figuring it was best to just leave her to it. He was tired – Harry'd been restless in his sleep again and when they'd been awake, they'd both been worrying about Remus and the full moon – and he didn't want to be denied the trial he'd been waiting eight years for over an argument or because he'd lost his temper.

It was a long afternoon. Harry fell asleep and Snape was the only one who visited. He took one look at Sirius, then glared at Harry and stormed out again, looking absolutely livid. Sirius didn't even have time to insult him. Remus didn't come – he probably wasn't in any state to leave the house, and Sirius still hoped for the thousandth time that the night before hadn't been a rough one – and neither did Dumbledore or Rattler or any of the other D.M.L.E. staff. Sirius figured Dumbledore was probably at Hogwarts; he'd been spending a lot of time at the Ministry lately, and Sirius suspected that wouldn't have made him awfully popular with McGonagall.

The D.M.L.E. staff were probably working with Fudge to arrange Sirius' trial – or so he hoped – which was a very good thing, except it made for poor company down in the holding cells; Rattler wasn't there to play games with – they were for Harry's sake but more often than not, Sirius joined in – Amelia didn't visit either – she sometimes brought Sirius crosswords from the _Prophet _- and Scrimgeour hadn't even made an appearance. Sirius respected Scrimgeour rather than liked him, but at least the man was willing to talk to Sirius like he was a human.

So, Sirius had to sit in his cell, bored, listening to Harry mumble occasionally – about chocolate frogs and broomsticks, thankfully, not Voldemort or leaving Sirius in the cave – and trying to ignore the angry looks from Dora that were burning into the side of his head.

"You don't even care, do you?" she demanded at one point.

"About what?" Sirius asked, startled. Shacklebolt glanced at Tonks, but didn't seem inclined to interrupt just yet, though Sirius knew Shacklebolt would if Dora got out of hand; Shacklebolt was a good sort. The other trainee – a thin, dark haired girl – had been asleep for most of the time and didn't stir, even now.

"About- about anything!" Dora said angrily. Her hair – mostly deep red, but tinged with purple and orange – made her head look like it was on fire. Sirius wasn't sure what to say to that; he almost said, 'Do too!' but something told him that wouldn't get him anywhere. So he said nothing, and Dora went back to scowling at him.

Sirius spent about an hour working on his mental Azkaban – which resembled an island again, but was still a while off being finished. He'd also spent a bit of time wondering what sort of state Keira and the locket were in; hopefully she'd destroyed it, but Sirius worried it might have attacked her. That, of course, brought him back to worrying about Remus, and sighing lots, which made Dora glare at him even more.

It was a very long, very uncomfortable afternoon – for everyone, he suspected.

Fudge arrived with dinner, and Sirius didn't know which he was more excited to see. He greeted Fudge - who looked rather irritated about being forced to carry in Sirius and Harry's dinner - and turned to prod Harry awake, only to pause when he heard more people enter. It seemed that, to make up for the lack of visitors that afternoon, everyone had decided to come now.

Scrimgeour, Amelia and Rattler were all there. Scrimgeour looked preoccupied, and mildly annoyed, Amelia looked like her usual, unflappable self and Rattler looked as cheerful as ever. Umbridge followed, wearing a hideous set of fluffy pink robes and a smug expression. And, last but not least, Malfoy and Narcissa stepped inside and Sirius wondered what in Merlin's name they were doing in his cell. Malfoy was smirking and Narcissa's expression was unreadable; of all of the Black children – Andy, Bella, himself and Reg – she'd always been the best at that. Over his cousin's shoulder, Shacklebolt was nudging the other trainee awake before Scrimgeour noticed her sleeping during a guard shift that didn't run overnight.

Sirius turned back to Harry and found him awake and putting on his glasses. He looked a little surprised to see this many people in the small cell, but he didn't say anything except, "Is that dinner?"

"That is Black's dinner," Fudge said. "You'll be eating later, Harry." Harry and Sirius shared an uncertain look and then, reaching an unspoken agreement, stood and sat down at the table. Fudge had already arranged himself in one of the spindly chairs and said, "Would you like to eat now, Black, or later?"

Sirius gave his dinner a longing look; there was some sort of soup, roast chicken and an assortment of steaming, vegetables. He was almost tempted to eat now – to make everyone wait, because they'd kept him waiting all day – but he shook his head.

"If someone'll put a charm on it to keep it warm, I'll leave it until later." Amelia did, and floated it over to the end of Sirius' bed. Scrimgeour, Umbridge and Amelia claimed the remaining chairs and Rattler, Malfoy and Narcissa conjured their own. "I take it this is about my trial," Sirius said.

_Please, _he thought, _please, please..._

"It is," Amelia said.

"And am I getting one?" Sirius asked. Harry seemed to be holding his breath – his face was slowly turning pink. Sirius nudged him and he let out a breath, looking sheepish. No one had answered yet. Sirius' heart thumped loudly in his chest.

_Please. Please, please, please-_

"You are," Fudge said.

"YES!" Sirius said, before he could stop himself. Harry's grin was so wide it looked like it might split his face. "Yes! Thank you! _Thank_-_"_

"It will be held," Fudge continued, and Sirius shut up immediately so that he could hear the details, "ten days from now, in Courtroom Ten."

"At ten o'clock?" Sirius asked, smirking. Only Rattler and the formerly-asleep trainee laughed. Fudge just rolled his eyes and exchanged an exasperated look with Malfoy.

"You will be tried in front of the full Wizengamot and Council of Magical Law." Sirius nodded.

"Sure," he said. "Fine." He couldn't wipe his grin off. _I'm getting a trial! Finally, _finally, _I can prove I'm innocent. _He didn't have Peter which would make things difficult, but he'd talk them around. He'd have to admit to being Padfoot, but once they saw that, they'd be willing to believe that Peter was a rat.And, since Sirius had been careful not to let the truth slip, they'd be unprepared for the truth. The shock-value alone might convince them. "Thank you!"

"It will be a public trial," Amelia said. Sirius frowned but nodded. He didn't particularly want it open to anyone who was interested, but he wasn't going to argue with them, not when they'd just given him a trial.

"There's also the matter of your isolation," Scrimgeour said. "I'll be withdrawing the Auror guards." Sirius looked at Harry and grinned. "They will be replaced with Dementors." Sirius sobered immediately. It was not a nice feeling. Harry looked scared.

"But-but you can't," Sirius stammered. He'd begun to reconstruct Azkaban, but he still needed a few more hours before he'd be able to cast his Patronus again. If the Dementors came after Harry, he wouldn't be able to do anything. "You saw what they did to-"

"Arrangements have been made for Mr Potter," Umbridge said, speaking for the first time. The reason for Narcissa and Malfoy's presence suddenly dawned on him.

"No," he said. Harry's eyes flicked to his face, bright with questions.

"Black, be reasonable," Fudge said, twirling his hat. "The boy can't stay with you while the Dementors are around after what happened last time..." Harry's eyes dropped to his hands and he studiously avoided eye contact with everyone who'd fixed their attention on him following Fudge's words.

"No, he can't. So the Dementors'll go." Scrimgeour opened his mouth. "I'm not arguing with isolation – it's important to have an unbiased trial and all that-" And it was; the last thing he needed was to be accused of bribing or enchanting people to believe him. "-but you can keep the Dementors away without bringing the Aurors back."

"Black-" Umbridge began.

"I'm not a danger to Harry," he said. "We don't have to be guarded – I've been saying this since we got here. I proved it when those Dementors came! The Aurors did a fat lot of good – I'm not blaming them," he added, as Scrimgeour bristled, "-it was a bloody terrible situation. But Harry and I were unguarded, in the cell, all night-"

"There were Dementors," Umbridge said primly.

"They were trying to attack us, not guard us," Harry snapped. "If Pa-Sirius hadn't been there-"

"If he hadn't been there, we wouldn't be in this situation, Mr Potter," Umbridge said. Harry glowered at her. "In fact, I daresay we'd all be better off."

"I wouldn't be," Harry muttered, but Sirius didn't think anyone else had heard him.

"Legally," Sirius said, putting a hand on Harry's shoulder, "Harry's as involved in this as I am. There are no laws that say we can't be housed together – that would be true even if I wasn't his guardian." And that was true; it wasn't uncommon for prisoners to share a holding cell, as long as they weren't likely to fight, and they weren't likely to cause trouble.

"You cannot be trusted-"

"We've been living in a house together – pretty much alone-"

"You had visitors?" Rattler asked sharply.

"I told you I wasn't giving you anymore answers until after my trial," Sirius said, but mentally, he cursed the slip up. "Anyway, it's been over a year. A whole fourteen – nearly fifteen - months since I took Harry, and he doesn't look dead or injured to me."

"In St Mungo's last year-"

"I _told_ you: that wasn't him," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "He'd never-"

"Even if Black- Sirius," Amelia said, as Sirius opened his mouth to correct her, "was not responsible for giving you those injuries, Mr Potter, the fact remains, he did nothing to prevent them." Sirius prayed Harry would keep his mouth shut – if he said anything about Sirius not being able to because he hadn't been there, Sirius would never be able to talk them around.

"He prevented the Dementors," Harry muttered, glowering at the table, and Sirius sighed, relieved. Amelia sighed a different kind of sigh.

"Mr Potter-"

"We won't leave you alone with Black," Scrimgeour said. "I'm sorry, Potter, but we're not prepared to take any risks at this point." Scrimgeour even gave Sirius a slightly apologetic look.

"And if I refuse to let him stay with Malfoy?" Sirius asked. Amelia sighed again.

"For as long as Mr Potter stays down here with you, the Aurors will remain on duty. For as long as the Aurors remain on duty, we are running the risk that you mislead one-"

"They've been down here for nearly two weeks," Sirius said. "If I was going to mislead anyone-"

"For as long as the Aurors remain on duty, we are running the risk that you mislead one," Amelia continued loudly, as if he hadn't said anything, "and as such, it will not count as isolation. Your trial will be postponed until you are willing to comply."

"What if I don't talk to them?" Sirius asked, but he knew that wasn't the point of isolation; the main point was that he not be able to win any allies in the lead-up to the trial, but also to that anyone he might have put a spell on had time to show symptoms and be cured.

None of them dignified his answer with a response.

"Understand, Sirius, that this situation is already unusual." Amelia's eyes flicked to Harry. "We have – though there was no choice at the time – already deviated from Ministry procedure." Sirius agreed – it was unheard of to have Aurors guarding the cells, not Dementors. "With your trial approaching, we are trying to handle this as professionally as we can – we're already facing scrutiny from the public-"

"-Skeeter's tearing us all to pieces," Scrimgeour said, his eyes flinty. Sirius suddenly understood why they were making his trial public; it was to give the Ministry a chance to show how competent they were, when Sirius had been making them look anything but. If Sirius was found guilty, the Ministry would be praised for their just decision, and if – no, _when_ – he was found innocent, they'd look good for giving him the chance to prove it. And very bad for hunting an innocent man for so long. He had to hide snigger. "A trial of this size _must_ be played by the book – you were an Auror, Black, you must understand-"

"I'll go," Harry said.

"What?" several people – Sirius among them – asked.

"I said I'll go," Harry said, squaring his jaw, just like James had used to when he was being stubborn. Amelia relaxed, and so did Scrimgeour and Malfoy.

"Harry-"

"Do you want your trial or not?" Harry snapped.

_My trial._ Sirius sighed. He hadn't been lying when he'd told Fudge he cared more about Harry's wellbeing than his own. But was Harry's wellbeing really in danger? Malfoy wouldn't try anything when the Ministry _knew_ Harry was with him. If he hurt Harry, he'd be arrested in a heartbeat.

In fact, Malfoy would probably be pleasant – he was probably hoping that if Sirius was found guilty, custody of Harry would go to him. In fact, Sirius was sure that's what Malfoy wanted. _Harry Malfoy, _Sirius thought, wrinkling his nose. So Harry probably wouldn't be in any danger – it'd be unpleasant, certainly, but if Harry was willing to go... Sirius still didn't want him to. But was not wanting him to a good enough reason?

_Yes, _Sirius thought sulkily, but his rational side – which still sounded uncannily like Remus – cleared its throat threateningly. "Fine," Sirius said, and everyone looked stunned before starting to talk at once. "Shut up!" he shouted. "There are conditions."

"Name them," Scrimgeour said.

"The first," Sirius said, "is that it's definitely temporary. Me agreeing to let him stay with my _lovely-" _Sirius glowered at Narcissa and she raised her eyebrow in return. "-cousin and her pompous husband is _not_ me surrendering custody."

"Obviously," Umbridge muttered.

"Good. The next is that Harry's allowed to come to my trial," Sirius said.

"Of course he is," Rattler said.

"Good," Sirius said again. "The next one is that Harry's wand is returned to him, and that he can take it with him to Malfoy's." Scrimgeour and Amelia exchanged looks, and Harry's eyes had brightened. Malfoy looked thoughtful. "He's not going to attack anyone," Sirius said. "But given the Dementor attack – which happened on Ministry property, remember – I'll feel better if Harry's got some sort of protection."

"I don't see a problem with that," Narcissa said, smiling, before anyone else could respond.

"Very well," Amelia said. "Is there anything else, Sirius?"

"Kiddo?" Harry shook his head.

"I actually have a request," Narcissa said, looking shy.

"Madam?" Fudge asked.

"I'd like to request an Auror to supervise Mr Potter while he's staying with us."

"Narcissa, that won't-" Malfoy began.

"Lucius, the boy was _attacked_," Narcissa said, her eyes brimming with tears. Sirius couldn't believe what he was seeing. "I couldn't bear it if anything happened to him, or to any of us! What if more Dementors come? What if they come after Hydrus or Draco?" Narcissa's hand was clamped around her husband's wrist, and her blue eyes were shining as she stared at Scrimgeour. "Please, Auror Scrimgeour. For my own peace of mind..."

"Of course, Madam," Scrimgeour said curtly. Malfoy looked exasperated, but he kissed his wife's hand and didn't say anything.

"Thank you," Narcissa whispered, dabbing her eyes. "Sirius, did you want a say in who's responsible for guarding your godson? If it was me-" Malfoy baulked.

"Perhaps Dawlish," he started to say over Narcissa.

"Mad-Eye," Sirius said shrewdly. Malfoy paled a bit.

"Mad-Eye's busy, Sirius," Dora said irritably.

"He's working another case," Scrimgeour said, nodding. "A new one." He and Dora exchanged grim looks. "It's rather important that he's focused on that for the next little while."

"I really think Dawlish," Malfoy was still saying, but no one was really listening to him. Narcissa's eyes were boring into Sirius' and he had no idea what she was playing at, but she hadn't given them away that day in Diagon Alley, so he was going to assume she was on his side. Or at least, not against him.

"Fine," Sirius said. "Not Mad-Eye." It was a shame – Mad-Eye would have kept Malfoy on his toes; as an old Order member, he was under no delusions about Malfoy's past. And, as an old friend of James', he'd definitely keep Harry safe. There was another person that might possibly scare Malfoy more, though, and despite her obvious problems with Sirius, she'd die before she let anything hurt Lily and James' son. "McKinnon, then." That shut Malfoy up completely, and Narcissa's eyes gleamed. Dora and the other trainee made shocked noises.

"She's just a trainee-"

"I'll vouch for her competence," Amelia said quietly.

"Perhaps a r-roster would be best," Malfoy said, speaking mostly to Fudge.

"Nonsense, Lucius," Narcissa said. Her tears were completely gone and she looked as calm as ever.

"We can't expect an Auror – a trainee, no less – to guard the boy for ten days," Lucius continued, looking a little desperate now. "She'll be exhausted, and what'll she do overnight-"

"She can have the second guest room," Narcissa said serenely, and Sirius let out a bark –like laugh at the horrified look on Malfoy's face.


	51. The Snake Pit

Harry and the Malfoys had come to the Manor by Portkey – Harry suspected they hadn't Flooed because Mr Malfoy wanted to show off the admittedly impressive exterior of the house – and Harry'd been promptly handed a pile of clothes and shown into a bathroom.

He'd bathed, trying not to feel to miserable about the situation; Padfoot was alone again, with the Dementors and Harry was stuck here for ten days with no company but the Malfoys and McKinnon, who Padfoot had been decidedly cold towards lately. But, this was all necessary, Harry reminded himself as he sorted through the clothes he'd been given. If he wanted to go home, to Grimmauld and Kreacher, and be able to talk to Padfoot and Moony without being listened to by Aurors, Padfoot needed his trial and there was no point putting it off.

Harry discarded one set of robes – proper ones, that were like dresses, instead of ones that just rested over the top of clothes – and reluctantly pulled on a pair of formal black trousers and a shirt. There was a matching waistcoat, but he discarded that and pulled robes – in the style he was more accustomed to – on over the top. He tucked his wand into his pocket – Rattler had returned it to him before he'd left the Ministry – and had a look in the mirror. He thought he looked like a bit of a prat. He turned, intending to swap his trousers for his jeans but his old clothes had vanished.

"Brilliant," he muttered darkly. He suspected a house elf – the Malfoys seemed the type to have one in their employ – had probably magicked them out and burned them. Sighing, he unlocked the door and stepped out into a wide hallway.

"Well that's better," a haughty portrait said, eyeing him. "Much better, now that you're in proper clothes and not those rags you were wearing before." Harry thought, ruefully, that those rags had been his favourite pair of jeans. "Although you could have tried to comb your hair. It looks absolutely horrendous-"

"Thank you, Emilien," Mr Malfoy said, striding through a door almost opposite the bathroom. "Better?" he asked Harry.

"Thanks for the clothes, sir," Harry said, not wanting to be rude. Mr Malfoy looked pleased and he gestured with his cane to Harry's right. They walked down the hall. Harry could see a room at the end of the corridor but Mr Malfoy guided him through a set of double doors on the right before they reached it.

They were back in the foyer again, at the bottom of an enormous marble staircase. Two almost identical boys – who looked a lot like Mr Malfoy - around Harry's age were with Mrs Malfoy. They too, were dressed rather extravagantly, which made Harry wonder if this is what they always wore. Harry also wondered how long the three of them had been standing there, waiting for him to emerge from the bathroom.

"Hydrus Malfoy," said the slightly taller one, in a voice uncannily like Mr Malfoy's.

"Harry Potter," Harry said, shaking the offered hand a little reluctantly.

"Do you think we're stupid?" the other one asked, shoving past his brother. Mrs Malfoy made an odd sound. "We _know _who you are." It was almost what Ron and Ginny had said, but they'd been much nicer about it. The boy stuck out his hand. "Draco Malfoy." It was only the fact that they'd be living together for the next ten days that made Harry shake his hand. Otherwise, he'd have refused. Harry let go as quickly as possible, and Draco turned to his father. "I'm hungry."

"We had to wait for you," Hydrus told Harry in a lofty voice.

Not ten minutes later, Harry found himself in a very fancy dining room, at a large dinner table, between Draco and Hydrus – and he'd forgotten which was which. There were two yards between each of them – at Grimmauld, he and Padfoot and Moony generally sat all together at the end of the table, but the Malfoys were spread evenly around – and Mr and Mrs Malfoy were opposite him.

A house elf dressed in a grubby pillowcase ran around the table, snapping his fingers to make food appear on their plates, and to refill their goblets.

"Dobby," drawled the boy on Harry's left, "this is Harry."

"Dobby is so pleased-" Harry was momentarily startled – the elf had such a high voice compared to Kreacher's croaking one – but hid it and offered the elf a smile. "- to have Harry Potter in the house of his Masters and Mistress! Dobby has heard so much... such an honour it is, sir!"

"Er... thank you," Harry said, embarrassed and not sure what else to say. He felt like he'd been put on the spot, and it didn't help that both Malfoy boys were sniggering.

"Harry Potter _thanked _Dobby!" Dobby exclaimed. "Never has Dobby- Dobby has heard of Harry Potter's greatness, sir-"

"Harry's fine," Harry told him, uncomfortable. Dobby's enormous eyes widened and he opened his mouth to say something but Mr Malfoy cleared his throat. Dobby snapped it shut and sent his master a terrified look before snapping his fingers at Harry's plate and vanishing.

"Mr Potter," Mr Malfoy said, reaching for the butter, "Dobby is a house-elf." Harry opened his mouth to say he knew that, but realised he wasn't _supposed_ to know what a house elf was.

"He seems nice," Harry said instead. A moment after he said it, a loud wail echoed up through the floor, which the Malfoys all ignored.

"Nice?" the boy on Harry's left said, snorting. "Potter, he's a servant, he's _supposed_ to be nice."

"Doesn't mean he has to be," Harry said.

"Of course he does," the other one said dismissively. "He's a _servant_, Potter." Harry thought of the way Kreacher had been for the first few months and almost argued. He managed to keep his mouth shut, though. "If he's rude, he's punished."

"Punished?" Harry asked. He'd seen Kreacher punish himself once or twice – generally he knocked his head against a wall a few times – and Padfoot had given him boils once ages ago, but it happened rarely. Now if Kreacher did something wrong, Padfoot told him off verbally, or forced him to sit in his cupboard. Knowing that Harry and Padfoot were preparing their own dinner and washing their own dishes was often punishment enough.

"He irons his hands, or closes his ears in the oven-"

"That's horrible!" Harry said, aghast.

"-He's a servant, Potter, honestly. You're worse than Mother. She only tells him off." Harry felt his estimate of Mrs Malfoy rise a bit. "I personally think-"

"Hydrus," Mrs Malfoy said quietly, but the boy on Harry's right stopped talking immediately. "Why don't you find a topic more familiar to Mr Potter. I think he's feeling a little overwhelmed." Harry didn't think he _liked _Mrs Malfoy, but he didn't dislike her anymore either; he wasn't feeling overwhelmed – he'd been angry, and trying to control his temper. Hydrus had been beginning to remind him rather strongly of Dudley.

"Are you going to Hogwarts?" Hydrus asked.

"Of course," Harry said.

"I thought maybe Durmstrang," Hydrus said, shrugging. That made no sense to Harry, but Draco sniggered until Mrs Malfoy shot him a look. "What House then, Potter?"

"Gryffindor, hopefully," Harry said.

Mrs Malfoy was the only one that didn't seem revolted; Mr Malfoy's lip had curled, Hydrus was pretending to throw up and Draco looked scandalized.

"But- but you're supposed to be the next-" Mr Malfoy cleared his throat.

"I'm supposed to be what?" Harry asked, frowning at Draco.

"-member of our family," Draco said, shooting Mr Malfoy a look. Harry might have believed that was what he really wanted to say if he hadn't looked at Mr Malfoy. "That's why you're here, isn't it?" Draco continued, glancing at Harry. "To join us? And our family's always been in Slytherin."

"I'm only here until Sirius' trial," Harry said. Draco didn't look surprised, which made Harry even more suspicious. He'd definitely changed what he was saying. What was Harry going to be the next of?

"What about after it?" Hydrus asked. "They wouldn't let you live with him in Azkaban, would they?"

"He won't be going to Azkaban, because he's innocent," Harry said, gritting his teeth. Draco frowned at Harry.

"Hydrus," he said finally. "You've offended him." Mrs Malfoy nodded and Draco smiled at her.

"How?" Hydrus asked doubtfully, looking at Harry for answers. "Black will go back to Azkaban." Mrs Malfoy cleared her throat, smile gone. "You'll be better off if you accept-" One of the lanterns on the wall shattered and everyone at the table jumped. Thankfully, a bell echoed through the house at that exact moment.

"The wards must be interacting with each other again," Mrs Malfoy said, fixing it with a wave of her wand. She offered Harry a small smile. "I suspect that's Auror McKinnon."

"Who else would it be?" Mr Malfoy muttered.

"Dob-"

"No!" Mr Malfoy said. "I'll get it myself."

"How chivalrous of you, Lucius," Mrs Malfoy said, sitting down again, as Mr Malfoy stalked out. Mrs Malfoy turned her blue eyes on Harry and offered him a bread roll.

"Why didn't Father send Dobby?" Draco asked at once.

"You'll have to ask him yourself," Mrs Malfoy replied. And Draco did, the moment Mr Malfoy returned with McKinnon.

"I thought she'd appreciate a personal greeting," Mr Malfoy replied stiffly. Draco didn't look convinced but didn't press the matter.

"I'd have liked to see Dobby," McKinnon said, smiling at Mr Malfoy, who looked irritated.

"I'm sure you'll see him at some point," Mr Malfoy said. McKinnon's smile widened and she set her suitcase down in the corner of the dining room.

The uncomfortable silence that followed continued for all of the next day. Harry'd been up for most of the night dreaming about Voldemort and his parents – thankfully, he hadn't woken any of the house's other occupants – and he'd cracked the window, but not shattered it. He'd pulled the curtains back across and gone back to bed. No one had disturbed him until lunch time, when Mrs Malfoy invited him down to eat.

Harry did come down – in the silk pyjamas he'd been given to wear – and Lucius was so shocked to see him still wearing them that he and McKinnon stopped hissing veiled insults at each other across the table and went back to eating. Draco was out, apparently, and Hydrus, who was lonely, coaxed Harry into a game of chess. Harry lost spectacularly all three times – though he firmly maintained his pieces were against him (except the king, who was a bit of a coward in Harry's opinion), and every bit as Malfoy-ish as the blond, pointy-chinned boy sitting across from him.

"It's a good thing you're not aiming for Slytherin," Hydrus drawled, as his knights dragged Harry's sobbing king off the board. "You're nowhere near cunning enough."

"You don't have to be good at chess to be cunning," Harry told him. Hydrus looked doubtful. Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes and started to set the table up for whoever used it next.

"Of course you- What are you doing?" Hydrus demanded.

"Cleaning up," Harry said.

"Potter," Hydrus said, rolling his eyes. "You don't have to clean up. Dobby'll do it later." And before Harry could say anything else on the matter, Hydrus had grabbed his wrist and dragged him from the room to meet Bosworth the rat. Mr Malfoy intercepted them on the way to Hydrus' bedroom however, and insisted on giving Harry a proper tour of the grounds – after he'd changed out of his pyjamas, of course.

"That's the pond, Mr Potter," Lucius said, pointing to what Harry thought was actually a small lake. "I would not advise going too close," he said, as Harry bent down to peer at a weed he was pretty sure had gone into his Form-Revealer.

"We've got a Kelpie," Hydrus boasted. Harry didn't know what that was, but he assumed it was some sort of magical water creature. The Malfoys didn't seem like the type to keep toads and goldfish in their pond. "Mother thinks it's dangerous, but I don't see why. It never comes out."

"What does it look like?" Harry asked, hoping he wouldn't be taunted for that. He looked around for anything unusual, but all he spotted was McKinnon sitting underneath a large tree, fulfilling her guard duty.

"Sometimes it's a dog, or a horse or a lion, but mostly it's a snake."

_Of course, _Harry thought, darkly amused. "I'll keep an eye out, then," he said.

"Don't go swimming out to look for it," Hydrus added, as Mr Malfoy led them into the broom- shed was the wrong word, since sheds were generally small in Harry's experience. "I know your Gryffindor side must be tempted, but that'd just be stupid."

"I'll keep it in mind," Harry said tonelessly, and then glanced around. There were three brooms on hooks on the wall opposite them, the wall on their left was dedicated to equipment. The rest of the room seemed to be a Quidditch shrine of sorts; there was a glass case containing a set of emerald green robes emblazoned with 'Malfoy' and two large, overlapping 'K's in yellow. There were also several photographs of someone who greatly resembled Mr Malfoy in a team dressed in the same robes, and alone, in clippings from the _Prophet_.

"Who's that?" Harry asked.

"My grandfather Casius," Mr Malfoy said, swelling with pride. "He was captain of the Kenmare Kestrels for five years and won them the league twice."

"He was a Seeker like me," Hydrus said, and it was the closest thing to a smile Harry had seen on him so far, though it was still more of a sneer.

"You play?" Harry asked.

"Obviously," Hydrus sneered. "This is where my broom sits," he said proudly, gesturing to an empty hook. "I took it inside to polish it," he said. Mr Malfoy sighed loudly, and Harry followed his gaze over to where a large broom maintenance set rested beside a spacious bench.

"I set that up at Christmas and I don't think it's been used yet," Mr Malfoy told Harry.

"Old habits die hard, Father," Hydrus drawled. "You should've put it in sooner. This is Draco's." He pointed to a sleek broom. It looked heavier than Harry's Galaxy, but Padfoot had said Harry's wasn't game-worthy. Harry suspected this was. "It's a Comet Two-Sixty. That's the same as mine." The other two – which he suspected belonged to Mr and Mrs Malfoy – were the same make. "Do you fly?"

"I've been once or twice," Harry said, noticing Mr Malfoy's eyes had sharpened; he'd be listening, waiting for Harry to give something about his life with Padfoot away. After a few subtly probing questions – which Harry just shrugged in response to – Mr Malfoy and Hydrus led Harry out of the broom shed and took him to see the peacocks that lived on the Manor grounds.

"So what do you think?" Hydrus asked, as the three of them – McKinnon was still trailing them – made their way inside, through the corridor and upstairs.

"Big," Harry said. McKinnon snorted and Mr Malfoy turned to glower at her.

"Bigger than what you're used to?" Hydrus asked, and Mr Malfoy perked up, apparently listing intently. McKinnon looked interested too.

"Much," Harry said innocently, and Mr Malfoy's eyes glinted. "I mean, I've been in a cell for the past two weeks." The light in Mr Malfoy's eyes dimmed and McKinnon sighed. "It was tiny." Hydrus opened his mouth and Harry braced himself for what was surely going to be something inadvertently offensive or arrogant. Hydrus never got the chance to say it though; Dobby and a scowling Draco appeared at the top of the stairs which startled Harry, who slipped and knocked his elbow in the banister.

"Well that was awfully graceful of you, Potter," Draco said scathingly, but to Harry's surprise, Draco came forward and helped him up. McKinnon, who'd been about to do the same, stepped back. Hydrus was sniggering – the git – and Mr Malfoy merely watched.

"Thanks," Harry muttered.

"Are you all right, Mr Potter?" Mr Malfoy asked. Harry really was fine – he'd probably have a bruise, tomorrow, but that was hardly debilitating – but he saw a chance and took it.

"Actually, sir, I'm really tired," he said quietly. If Padfoot or Moony were here to see this, they'd have laughed at him and called his bluff at once. Mr Malfoy didn't seem to realise, however. "All that walking after being in a cell for so long... would it be all right if I went to bed?"

"Dinner's in an hour," Mr Malfoy said uncertainly.

"I'm not that hungry," Harry said. He was a bit, but he intended to sleep pretty much straight away, so he'd be able to wait until morning.

"I'll go with him," McKinnon said.

Mr Malfoy's expression soured and he continued upstairs with a, "Sleep well, Mr Potter."

"Oh, does she tuck you in as well as guard you?" Harry glanced at Hydrus, annoyed, and then realised it had been Draco that said it. He was surprised – Draco'd just helped him up – and then realised he probably should have expected it.

"Night," he said stiffly, and walked past them.

"Night," Draco called, sounding perfectly pleasant again. Harry glanced back, confused and then shook his head and walked the rest of the way upstairs and entered his bedroom. McKinnon didn't follow him in straight away – she gave him a few minutes to change – and then she came in and sat down at the desk chair.

She didn't try to make conversation and Harry wasn't exactly sure what to say to her. Instead, he left the room and went to brush his teeth. She was still there when he came back, though she didn't seem any more inclined to speak to him than she had before.

McKinnon's distance was the beginning of a very lonely few days; Mr and Mrs Malfoy were perfectly friendly, and very accommodating, but Harry got the impression that despite that, Mrs Malfoy didn't like the fact that he was in her house, and that Mr Malfoy was up to something. Some of his questions were a little too probing to make Harry entirely comfortable.

Harry had managed to offend Hydrus on the second day of his stay; Hydrus had dragged Harry outside to go flying. They'd raced, and had competitions to see who could pull off the best manoeuvres and they'd even played a game of 'Bludger' and Harry had won all but one of the races. Hydrus hadn't spoken to him since, unless it was to insult him, which horrified Mr Malfoy and made Mrs Malfoy quite smug.

Draco was regularly out of the house. He disappeared for a few hours each day – usually in the afternoons, or early evening, though occasionally he'd be out in the mornings - and Hydrus didn't seem to know where he went. Admittedly, Hydrus probably wouldn't tell Harry anyway, but neither Draco or the adults would give Harry a straight answer when he asked either.

Even more mysterious than Draco's excursions, however, was his behaviour. One moment he was perfectly pleasant and trying to explain his theory about the magic of hugs to Harry – Harry couldn't quite work out if he was joking, or if he was being serious – and the next moment, he was insulting Harry's personality or appearance or intelligence, or bossing Harry around or bragging. And when Draco was in one of those moods, he was even worse to deal with than Hydrus. Harry'd decided he didn't like Draco all that much, if only because his polar personalities were impossible to keep up with.

As a result, Harry found himself spending a lot of time down in the kitchen with Dobby. Mrs Malfoy didn't seem to mind that he went down there, and neither did Mr Malfoy – who was willing to let Harry do whatever he wanted if it kept him happy – it hadn't occurred to Hydrus that a house elf was worth spending time with – actually, Harry wasn't even sure that Hydrus knew where the kitchens were – and Draco was afraid of the cellar and rarely ventured down anyway.

Harry missed Padfoot and Moony so much it hurt, and no one in the Manor was anywhere near as much fun to be around, but Dobby was decent company at least. He was better at holding a conversation than Kreacher was, though unlike Kreacher, Dobby had a strange habit of bursting into tears whenever Harry thanked him for anything, and he was also a lot freer with compliments.

"Harry Potter sir is too kind to Dobby," Dobby said, presenting him with a plate of biscuits.

"Thanks," Harry said, grabbing one. Dobby's eyes filled with tears.

"So kind," Dobby said shrilly. "Dobby does not deserve Harry Potter-"

"What did you put in these?" Harry asked, flushing. Dobby sniffled and began to list ingredients with increasing enthusiasm; Harry was just pleased that he'd managed to avert another tearful display. Dobby sent the plate upstairs – where it would inevitably find its way to each member of the Malfoy family – and would probably end up with Hydrus or Draco, depending on what sort of mood Draco was in.

Dobby suddenly straightened and vanished with a crack. He did that regularly – obviously someone had called him – and Harry was too used to it to be surprised anymore. He returned a moment later, quaking and wringing his filthy pillowcase.

"Why do you wear that thing, Dobby?" Harry asked, wrinkling his nose. Kreacher didn't wear clothes either – but Kreacher had several pillowcases and tea-towels to choose from, and all of which were clean.

"Tis a mark of a house elf's enslavement, Harry Potter sir," he said, averting his eyes. "Dobby knows his place, but Dobby is forgetting it sometimes, sir-"

"Forgetting-" Harry paused before he started to talk like a house elf. "You forget?" Dobby looked terrified and was shaking all over.

"Dobby mustn't- Dobby shouldn't- Dobby's-" Suddenly he let out a shriek and ran over to the sink. Harry recognised the look in his eye and hopped off the bench at once. He wasn't quick enough to stop Dobby from ramming his large head into the soapy water, but he was quick enough to stop him from repeating the gesture.

"Stop!" Harry said, tugging him back. Dobby struggled – if Harry'd been any smaller than he was now, Dobby would have broken free. "Dobby, stop!" Dobby went limp and Harry hauled him over and sat him down in one of the chairs at the little kitchen table.

"Thank you, Harry Potter, sir," Dobby said. Soapy water dripped off his pointed ears and puddled on the floor. Suddenly Dobby tensed up again and Harry forced him back down. "Bad Dobby!" Dobby wailed, punching himself in the face. "Bad Dobby!"

"Stop!" Harry yelled. "I forbid you to punish yourself while you're around me! And no Apparating away to do it either!" Dobby's ears drooped. Harry loosened his hold on Dobby's wrists and when Dobby didn't attempt to hit himself again, Harry let him go completely. Dobby looked up at him with baleful eyes; Harry wasn't sure whether it was detergent that was making his eyes red, or tears.

"Dobby is a bad elf- Dobby almost spoke ill of his family! And then Dobby is not punishing himself!" He let out a wail and Harry sighed.

"I think you're a brilliant house elf," Harry said.

"If Harry Potter sir knew..." Dobby mumbled. "Dobby forgets, Dobby is a bad house elf! Dobby keeps secrets for Dobby's Masters and Mistress-"

"Well you're supposed to," Harry said. Dobby looked afraid.

"Dobby also- Dobby-" Dobby edged closer to Harry, as if he feared being overheard. "Dobby also dreams, Harry Potter sir. Dobby makes wishes of being a- a-"

"A what?" Harry asked curiously. He'd never met an ambitious house elf before – unless Kreacher's desire to conquer dust bunnies counted – but he figured if he was ever going to meet a house elf with a Slytherin trait, it'd be in the Malfoy home.

"A fre-" Dobby let out another shriek and threw himself out of the chair before Harry could stop him. Then he ran straight for the oven, which had bread baking inside it.

"Stop!" Harry said, stepping toward him. "Dobby, no punishment, rememb-"

"_Petrificus Totalus!_" McKinnon said from the doorway, and Dobby dropped with a squeak.

"You attacked him!" Draco – who was behind McKinnon – said. Harry couldn't decide if he looked awed or horrified.

"We heard shout-"

"_I _heard shouting," Draco said.

"_He_ heard shouting," McKinnon sighed, and Draco looked smug. "Are you hurt?" Harry shook his head and pulled out his own wand.

"I'm going to release you," Harry said, going to crouch by Dobby. "You're going to lie there and not try to punish yourself at all."

"Harry," McKinnon said, "perhaps it's best if I-"

"_Finite_," he said, waving it at Dobby, who started to wail. McKinnon stared at Harry for a moment and then looked at Dobby.

"Out," she said, gesturing to Harry and Draco. Harry wanted to stay and help, but Dobby seemed to be set off by his mere presence.

"You can't- Draco began.

"Come on," Harry said, dragging him out.

"What did you do to him?" Draco asked, as they made their way upstairs.

"We were just talking," Harry said. He didn't think telling Draco about Dobby's dreams – whatever they were - was a good idea, so he didn't.

"Clearly you're a terrible conversationalist," Draco sneered. Harry scowled. Draco scowled back and then said, "Come and race rats."

"I don't have a rat," Harry pointed out. Nor did he particularly want one – Peter had ruined the animal for him, he thought.

"You can watch then," Draco said loftily. Harry sighed and followed him through the drawing room – Harry hated the drawing room, because it made his skin prickle – and through the rest of the Manor. Hydrus was waiting by the pond and scowled when he saw Harry.

"What are you doing here?" he asked. Bosworth, who was perched on his shoulder, squeaked. Draco pulled Roquefort out of his pocket and put him down on the grass. He promptly went to smell Harry's shoe.

"I invited him," Draco said, sitting down. Hydrus set Bosworth down as well and went to sit ten yards away. "Do sit down, Potter." Harry sat down awkwardly, beside the plant he'd inspected on his first day at the Manor.

"Are they lined up?" Hydrus asked, as Draco grabbed both rats and held them in front of him.

"Yes," Draco said.

"Then go!" Hydrus called. Draco let them go and both rats took off toward Hydrus; obviously they'd done this a few times. One of them was squeaking madly, but Harry couldn't tell which rat the sound was coming from. Harry couldn't honestly say it was very exciting, but Draco and Hydrus both looked eager.

Eventually, the winning rat – the other was a few feet behind it – reached Hydrus, whose face fell. Draco let out a triumphant sound, and hurried over to give his rat something to eat. Roquefort scurried away to eat it – drawing nearer to Harry – and Bosworth followed, squeaking. Roquefort squeaked in response – which was weird, because Harry got the impression that they were actually talking – and then Bosworth darted forward, bit him and stole whatever it was that Draco'd given Roquefort. Roquefort let out a distressed squeal and scurried back toward Draco and Hydrus, who were bickering.

Bosworth made his way past Harry, to the edge of the pond. Harry reached for him, to try to get whatever it was the rat had stolen, but Bosworth evaded him and hid in a clump of weeds. Harry could only see two gleaming eyes and hear nibbling sounds. He sighed – it seemed the rat was a git like its owner - and went back to listening to the Malfoy brothers argue.

"I say best two out of three," Hydrus said.

"No," Draco said hotly, "you lost-"

"Then I'll probably lose again, won't I?" Hydrus sneered. "You're just scared _you're_ going to lose-"

"I am not _scared!_" Draco said furiously. "_You're _the coward."

"I am _not_ a _coward!_" Hydrus bellowed, his pale cheeks turning pink.

There was a shrill, piercing squeal on Harry's left. His head snapped over in time to see Bosworth trying to squeeze out from inside the weeds he'd taken shelter in. The reason for the squeal quickly became apparent; a large, turqoise snake was coiled in the shallows, only a few inches from where Harry sat, and its bright blue eyes were fixed on the rat. Hydrus let out a shriek and ran back toward the Manor, shouting for his father. Draco just stared, and Harry sat very, very still.

Bosworth's whiskers twitched and he looked, almost desperately at Harry. Harry shifted, trying to inch his wand out of his pocket, but the snake turned to look at him. Harry slowly put his hands up.

"Better," it said. Harry blinked and the snake turned its attention back to the Bosworth. "Ssqueeze and sswallow," it hissed, moving toward the terrified rat.

_Did that snake just talk?_ The snake's tail twitched and it lunged forward. Bosworth tried to move but the snake darted forward and before Harry realised what had happened, the snake had him wrapped in its coils. The rat was squeaking madly now.

"Stop!" Harry said, as the snake cocked its head and opened its mouth.

"Did you just sspeak?" the snake asked, looking at Harry curiously. Its large blue eyes watched him with more intelligence than he'd expected, and its tongue – a deep purple colour – flickered out to taste the air.

"I was going to ask you the same," Harry said, and thought this must be one of the strangest things he'd ever done.

"Interessting_,_" the snake said. "But why sshould I sstop?"

"He's a pet- the boy that ran away before, he owns him."

"And?" the snake asked, but Harry noticed it had stopped squeezing. Bosworth was panting, and still wriggling, but had calmed down, almost as if he knew he was safe for the moment.

"And if you kill him, they'll be angry- you'd er... lose your home." He didn't doubt Hydrus and Mr Malfoy would be set on revenge if anything happened to the rat.

"My home?" Those enormous blue eyes widened and the snake let out a little unhappy hiss. Then the coils loosened and Bosworth shot free, right into Harry's hand. Harry stuffed him into a pocket of his robes for safekeeping.

"Thanks," he said.

"It'ss not for you, little sspeaker," the snake said. It slithered forward and reared up suddenly, so that its head was level with Harry's. Its turquoise scales glinted in the sun. "It'ss for me." It slid into the pond and vanished in seconds. Harry stared at the rippling water and a hand grabbed the back of his robes and yanked him to his feet. Draco was extremely pale and all but dragged Harry away from the pond.

Mr Malfoy – who had his wand out and looked panicked – and Hydrus hurried out of the Manor and came toward them.

"Are you hurt?!" Mr Malfoy demanded, looking at both of them.

"No, sir." Harry pulled Bosworth – who was shaking – out of his pocket and offered him to Hydrus, who snatched him up and ran back inside.

"What happened?" Mr Malfoy asked.

"Well," Harry said, still reeling, "it grabbed Bosworth and then-"

"Potter hexed it," Draco interrupted. He met and held his father's gaze. "And it let go and went back into the pond." Mr Malfoy turned to Harry, who was staring at Draco; not only had Draco lied about what had happened, but he'd also blinked several times as soon as Mr Malfoy's attention was off of him.

"Yeah," Harry said slowly. "It was lucky, really."

"And it makes me wonder why you had to defend yourself," he said softly. "_Where_ is McKinnon?"

"Kitchen," Draco said at once. "Dobby was upset." Mr Malfoy swept off toward the Manor again, muttering under his breath.

"You lied," Harry said.

"Of course I did!" Draco snapped. "You were talking to it! You can't just talk to Kelpies!"

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

"Honestly, Potter, were you raised by muggles?" Draco said rudely.

"Actually-"

"I know! Shut up!" Draco snapped. "Kelpies don't talk – they don't understand us, and we don't understand them!" Obviously that wasn't right, because Harry had just held a conversation with the creature.

"You couldn't understand it?" Harry blinked at Draco, who looked frustrated.

"No! And that's the way it's _supposed _to be!"

"Er... sorry?" Harry said, but he could tell from Draco's reaction that this was serious. He found himself missing Padfoot and Moony more than ever. They'd have known what to say, and how to explain whatever it was that had just happened.

"Sorry!?" Draco demanded. "You- Potter, I don't think you understand-"

"Obviously," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "If it's such a big deal, though, why didn't you say anything?" Draco looked lost for a moment.

"It's- I- it's not something that should be shared. It's a secret," he said finally, but he didn't sound certain. Harry wondered if Draco's strange behaviour stemmed from not actually knowing what his own thoughts were. "But I still should have said- Father..."

"So you are going to tell him?" Harry asked.

"Absolutely not," Draco said, looking horrified. "I _lied_. I'm not about to hand myself in." His eyes – grey like Padfoot's, but much colder – narrowed. "So you'd better not say anything either."

* * *

"I've never met a Gryffindor whose company I enjoyed."

Draco hesitated and said, "Liar." Severus' eyebrows rose.

"Very good," he said. "I feel ill at the sight of blood."

"Liar." Severus inclined his head and Draco didn't seem to know whether he felt more pleased to have guessed correctly, or if he was still annoyed at Severus. Severus hoped it'd be the latter; he was still hoping to offend Draco enough that he'd stop coming for these lessons. Protecting the boy was important, but Severus wasn't about to do it at his own expense. Dumbledore could believe what he wanted to, but Severus still thought it was a bad idea to give the Dark Lord a spy that had Severus' training. "My mother's name was Eileen."

"That's true?"

"Are you asking me or telling me?"

"I already said true. If you weren't listening, that's not my fault." Draco's chin had come up and his eyes were flashing.

"Be confident in your answers," Severus said curtly. "If I doubt them, I doubt you."

The word doubt seemed to trigger something in the boy. He opened his mouth and then closed it. Severus was moments away from sighing and telling him to say whatever it was that was bothering, when Draco did anyway.

"Can I trust you?" Severus arched an eyebrow and stared at the boy, who stared right back.

"Yes," he said slowly. Draco stared at him a moment longer and then nodded once.

"That's true," he said, looking relieved. Severus wasn't sure if it was true or not, but at the moment, Draco's trust was likely a good thing so Severus wasn't about to challenge his decision. "So does that mean I can trust Mother?"

"Pardon?" Severus drawled.

"Something... happened," Draco said uncertainly. "It was yesterday. I lied to Father about it."

"And he believed you?" Draco's chin came up again.

"I didn't blink once," he said proudly. Severus hid a smirk and gestured for his godson to continue. "Once I'd lied, I couldn't take it back." Severus suspected both Draco's pride and his self-preservation instincts were the reason for that, and couldn't decide if it was more Slytherin or more Gryffindor of him. "It's a- it's something that should be a secret... and Father's always said to keep secrets for when we have to tell them to get something... only that's not why I did it."

"You didn't keep the secret to help yourself?" Severus asked, and Draco nodded.

"I- it was like with Pansy. Hydrus was going to tease her about crying, only that wouldn't be fair. She couldn't help it. _I'd_ cry if Mother died. And Potter couldn't help it either- only- only-"

"Potter?" Severus asked, pinching the bridge of his nose. After his humiliating attempt to protect Potter from Black who now apparently was _not_ a werewolf (and so where on earth he'd got that memory he showed Severus, Severus didn't know), Severus thought his hatred of all people Potter had reached new heights. Minus Lily, of course, though he couldn't help but feel slightly annoyed at her for mothering the brat he was now trying to protect.

"Yes, sir," Draco said. "He's not my friend, though, but I still treated him like he was Pansy- I-I helped him."

_You protected him_. Severus straightened a pile of unmarked essays and tried to wrap his head around the concept. He also wondered what Potter could possibly have done that would trigger this response in Draco; Draco didn't like or dislike Potter, but whatever it was Potter had done had startled Draco into acting instinctively. And it seemed, Draco's instincts were becoming more and more Gryffindor-ish by the week.

"Weren't you telling me you helped him just the other day?" Severus asked. "Something about giving him a hand when he tripped over?"

"I'd do that for anyone," Draco said, rolling his eyes. "That doesn't count." Severus eyed the boy again, wondering exactly how much he'd changed in the last few months. The old Draco would have laughed at Potter for falling even if they were best friends, and most certainly wouldn't have offered him a hand up afterward.

"And this does?"

"Obviously!" Draco said, looking frustrated. "I went to find Mother this morning to ask her about all this- she told me to come and talk to her whenever I'm feeling confused, so she can make sense of it all-"

"You've been relying on her?"

"Mother said it's okay to ask for help," Draco said crossly. "Only this time, she told me I shouldn't tell her, because she can't be trusted. She said I can love her and we can spend time together and we can still hug and practice magic and she'll still read to me but that I can't trust her because she said _no one_ can be trusted." Draco looked like he might cry, and Severus wondered how Narcissa could go from being so ridiculously subtle to so abrupt.

_And why in Merlin's name would she tell Draco _not_ to trust her?_

"Except she said I could trust you," Draco said. Severus' mouth fell open before he could stop it. What in Merlin's name was the woman playing at!? He snapped his mouth shut, but Draco didn't seem to have noticed anyway. "But if she told me to trust you, and you can be trusted, doesn't that mean I can trust her?"

"If your mother says you cannot trust her," Severus said after a pause, "then I'd advise you to listen. In all likelihood, she will not tell you again, but it does not make the warning any less true."

"And- and you, sir? I can trust you, right?"

"If you'd like," Severus said. "I cannot promise that I will always make decisions that you agree with, or give you advice that sounds helpful, but I will promise you that I shall not divulge any information you give me without your permission to do so unless it is absolutely critical. And, I can promise that I will encourage you to act in your best interests." He thought it was the most godfatherly thing he'd ever said to the boy, and that that was rather twisted. He let Draco mull over it for a few minutes.

"Sir?"

"Draco?"

"Is what I did wrong?"

_Trusting me?_ Severus wondered. _Time will tell – for both of us._ "Pardon?"

"Should I have- is it wrong to help Potter, when he's not my friend?"

"That's not for me to decide," Severus said, wishing, just for a moment, that he had Dumbledore or Narcissa's insight. Both of them would be much, much better at answering a question like this. He couldn't even use his usual morality test – what would Lily say? – because in this case, it'd probably be biased. "We should always do our best to help people-" A lie, because Severus himself didn't believe that, but Draco wasn't looking for lies right now. He was just listening. "-but you should also be careful not to let people take advantage of your... goodwill." Draco looked relieved.

"That's good," he said.

"What is?"

"I don't think Potter's the type to take advantage of people," Draco mused. Severus – very, very, very grudgingly – had to admit he was correct. Even the elder Potter – for all of his many, terrible personality flaws – had been... reluctant to take advantage of people. It was probably the nearest thing to a good trait the man had possessed.

"How long have you been here?" Severus asked, abruptly bringing Draco's attention to their lesson.

"An hour and twelve minutes," Draco said confidently.

"One hour and twenty nine," Severus said, and Draco's face fell. "But your conviction was good." He offered Draco a small, not-quite-smile. "I almost believed you."

He had Draco try to work out when he was lying and when he was telling the truth for a further few minutes, and then set Draco to memorising twenty objects on a tray. Draco managed nineteen, and then Severus sent him to rearrange the bookshelf – Draco looked furious at that and stomped over.

"Do be careful," Severus said, wincing, as Draco shoved a heavy volume on rare potions into the shelf. "Most of those are worth more than your broomstick."

"Sorry," Draco muttered. "Sir, why can't I just call Dobby and have him do this?"

"Because Dobby will not learn anything from the exercise."

"Neither will I!"

"The more you protest, the longer it'll take," Severus warned. Draco stuffed another book into place, scowling. He was already learning; if there was another nine year old with organisational skills anywhere near Draco's level, Severus had yet to meet them. Draco routinely reshelved books, potions ingredients, potion phials and even the records of Severus' Slytherin students. He was becoming efficient at sorting through lots of information, and was learning to take notice of the things he sorted; Severus would often ask him to locate several things afterward, and Draco would have to use his memory, and his organisational system to do so.

Severus sat down, intending to mark essays, but instead found his mind wandering. He'd had a lot to think about; Black's trial was only four days from now, and old articles – about _that _night, and about Pettigrew's death - had been reprinted and were on the front page of the _Prophet _most days. According to Dumbledore, of course; Severus still refused to read that rubbish. Even Greyback – who'd died, and good riddance – had been second page news.

Severus wasn't going to testify, of course, but guilt was starting to gnaw at him; he knew where Pettigrew was. He could give Black his freedom. Black would be forever indebted to him – and that was a nice thought – and it would also mean Potter got to stay with Black. Severus wasn't convinced that was a brilliant idea, but if Black lost his case, Potter would almost certainly end up with Lucius and Narcissa, and Severus didn't think he could deal with a Slytherin Potter anymore than Narcissa could.

Of course, arranging for Pettigrew to be found was far too risky; Severus had prepared potions to regrow his finger. Severus was involved. And, while Severus thought everyone would be better off if Lucius went to Azkaban for harbouring the rat, Severus was one of four people – himself, Lucius, Narcissa and the rat himself – that knew where Pettigrew currently resided. It'd be obvious that he'd told and Severus wasn't prepared to trade his life for Black's.

He wondered if Narcissa herself was going to do it. Perhaps that's what she'd meant when she'd told Draco not to trust her. Perhaps she was planning something. Perhaps she was planning to frame Severus. The thought sent chills through him. Narcissa wasn't as cold hearted as her husband, but she had no limits when it came to keeping her family safe. She'd already proven that. Or, what if Narcissa had no plans for Pettigrew at all? What if she'd resigned herself to raising the Potter brat? If that was right, though, then why would she have told Draco to trust Severus, and Severus only?

She didn't know that he was a spy for Dumbledore; she'd have confronted him about that before now, and put an end to Draco's lessons. Was _she _turning sides, and wanted to ensure that Draco didn't follow her over to the 'good' side? Or was it just a warning, years before Draco'd ever need it, telling him that as a spy, he wouldn't be able to trust anyone, except for his teacher? Severus shoved those thoughts into a room in his Occlumency dungeons, shut the door, and locked it. He didn't understand Narcissa any more than he understood Dumbledore. They were insane, both brilliant in their own ways, but absolutely mental.

And, what was it that Potter had done? Had he perhaps hexed Hydrus, or revealed a secret about Black to Draco? Could he possibly have revealed the 'power the Dark Lord knows not'? Severus eyed his godson, who was holding two books up, and staring between them.

"Draco," he said.

"What?" Draco asked irritably. All of his gentle, uncertain trust was gone.

"What did Potter do?" Draco glanced at the half-full bookshelf, and then back to Severus. His lip curled.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" he drawled.


	52. Tears And Trust

It was hard to decide whether this visit to the camp was better or worse than the last one.

Greyback wasn't around – which was definitely a bonus – but the atmosphere was infinitely more volatile. He'd met with Mad-Eye before travelling to Gwydir Forest, and they'd both decided that blaming Smoky for the incident was the best idea. Smoky was a nameless, faceless being – so she'd be perfectly safe, wherever she was - but she was known by the camp's residents and gave them someone other than the Aurors or Remus or Matt to blame.

And blame her they did; if they'd been obsessed with finding their errant 'sister' before, it was nothing to the way they felt now. The news of Greyback's death had been taken pretty much as he'd expected; they'd been shocked for about a day, and then angry and miserable in equal amounts ever since.

He and Matt were bearing the brunt of both; anger was directed at them, because they both frequented the 'outside', for failing to somehow realise that Greyback had been in danger. It didn't seem to matter that Matt had been heavily drugged in preparation for the full moon, and that Remus had been preparing for his own transformation, and that neither of them had any clue who Smoky was or where to find her. The misery had been directed at them as well. Remus wasn't sure if it was because he and Matt didn't care much that Greyback was gone and so weren't crying too, or if it was for another reason, but he'd been cornered by several miserable people who wanted to reminisce about being bitten, or cry on him.

And Remus bore it, though he tried to leave most of the teary ones to Matt. Even after a bit of experience with Dora, nothing scared Remus more than a crying woman. He tried to treat them like people who'd lost a parent or brother, and not a group mourning their lunatic leader. He tried to be sympathetic and say the right things. And he tried desperately not to get frustrated at being there, when there was so much going on back in London.

He hadn't seen Dora since he cried all over her after the last full moon, and frankly, he wasn't sure he wanted to; how was he supposed to apologise for his behaviour without seeming like even more of an idiot?

She'd been sending him letters daily. The first had come six days ago and had been to ask whether he was okay, to thank him for the birthday present which he'd left on his kitchen table for her to find (it was a muggle mood ring, which she'd probably seen or heard of before but he thought she'd enjoy anyway, an Auror's autobiography, and chocolate for when she had to go to Azkaban to investigate Greyback's death) and to say she had to talk to him, so could he please arrange a time to meet her? He could have, easily – Matt was able to handle the pack just as easily as he was – but he was too embarrassed to go.

Too embarrassed to respond, even. Sirius would have given him a talking to, no doubt, but Sirius wasn't here. He and Harry were stuck in a cell in the Ministry, while Remus ran around, cleaning up after Greyback. The letters had become even more agitated as the days went on.

Today, exactly a week after he'd arrived at the camp, he'd received another letter.

"Who's that from?" Matt asked, glancing up from his breakfast.

"I'm not sure," Remus replied, tucking the bulky envelope into his pocket for later; Greentooth and her pack had looked up when Strix flew in, and Debbie, who was sitting with Richard and Nancy, was glaring at them. He offered Strix a piece of toast but Strix just bit his knuckle and flew off again. Remus frowned. "I'd better make sure it's not urgent." He doubted it would be, but the envelope was heavier today.

He retreated into his room and closed the curtain he'd conjured upon his arrival. He would have preferred a door, but wasn't quite bold enough – he could still imagine Greyback's foul, wheezing voice asking what he had to hide from his 'family' – to have anything more than a curtain. Baby steps.

He sat down on the bed and tore the envelope open. Several sheets of paper fell out, but Remus picked up the letter first.

_Remus, _

_I know you're getting these, because you were able to get post over Christmas. I also know you aren't dead, or Strix would be bringing these back unopened, so I don't know what's keeping you from replying. _

_Mad-Eye and I haven't made any progress on the case. Smoky's as elusive as ever, but we've nearly finished with all of the paperwork and will be going back to Azkaban for another look at his cell sometime in the next few days. _

_Other things are happening here – things I'd hoped to talk to you about in person, but since you're ignoring me, I guess I'm just going to have to put it in writing._

_Sirius has got his trial. It's four days from now. Harry's with the Malfoys, but he's got McKinnon guarding him. The articles should give you more detail, but if you want to know anything else, just write back._

_I hope you're all right, but I'm also furious with you._

_Tonks._

Remus stared at her neat, round print and blinked a few times, trying to make sense of it all.

_Sirius is going to get his trial. _Remus couldn't believe it, or wipe the grin off his face. He reached for the articles with shaking hands.

_GOING BLACK TO AZKABAN?, THE NEWEST MALFOY? _and _TRIAL OF THE CENTURY _! He read them all quickly. The first was mostly propaganda about Sirius and whether it was smart to give a mass-murdering, child abducting, law breaking monster a trial. The second was solely dedicated to Harry's whereabouts and the third was actually a fair summary of what had happened all those years ago, and Sirius' alleged part in it. Peter got a mention, and so, Remus was surprised to find, did he; apparently, he'd been unavailable for comment. It also implied the Auror Department was corrupt and told him to turn to page six for details, but Dora hadn't included that article.

Remus stared at the rather unflattering photograph of Sirius in Azkaban, snarling at the camera, and at the photograph of Harry, looking very young as he was escorted out of the Ministry by Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. Remus didn't care much about photographs, though. Sirius was going to get his trial! He'd get his chance to speak, and he'd be proven innocent and he'd be _free. _Sirius and Harry would be able to go home – Merlin knew they both needed it – and Remus could stop pretending to hate them both.

"Bloody hell," he muttered, laughing. Then several other things sank in – like where he was, and what he was doing - and he flopped flopping back onto the mattress, with his hands on his face. Greyback had made things difficult while he was alive, and Remus was darkly amused by the fact that he'd even managed to inconvenience Remus with his death. "Damn you, you-"

"Lupin?" The curtain was pulled aside to reveal Debbie. Remus was rather surprised to see her; she hadn't made any effort to speak with him or Matt since they'd arrived and she'd spent the whole time glaring at them. She was still glaring now.

"Debbie," he said, sitting up. He scooped everything up and stuffed it back into the envelope, which went into his pocket again. "How are you?"

"You did it, didn't you?" she said quietly. Her eyes were red-rimmed, which Remus didn't understand – she'd hated Greyback as much as he had, or so he'd thought – and her voice was hoarse.

"Pardon?"

"You killed him," she said, coming a step closer. Remus' mouth fell open.

"No! No, of course-"

"You hated him!" she snarled. "I know you did- everyone _knows._"

"If I'd wanted him dead, I'd have done it a long time ago," Remus said tiredly. "I'm not going to pretend that I'm sad that he's gone-"

"See!"

"I never claimed to like him," Remus said, rolling his eyes. "But I didn't kill him."

"Nancy says you did-"

"Oh," Remus said irritably, "well if _Nancy _says so, then it must be true."

"You're not denying it," she said.

"I already did!"

"I was friends with you long enough to know that you don't have anyone else," she said coldly. "You're so lonely, and you just want everyone else to be lonely too, don't you? You can't stand that you never fit in here, so you thought you'd take away their father, didn't you? Did _you_ want to be our father, Lupin? Did you want to be the alpha?"

Remus stared at her for a long moment. He knew there wasn't much he could say; if she was thinking clearly, she'd have smelled that he was telling the truth. Debbie was gone, for him at least. She was part of the pack now.

"I managed to escape you," she continued, eyes bright, "and it looks like Matt's not enough anymore. You want power – you had to be the leader of our little search team, didn't you-"

"Obviously power was _so_ important," Remus said, rolling his eyes, "because I gave it up to be treated like rubbish for two months here." She faltered for a moment, as if unable to realise why he was making sense.

"A ploy," she said finally. "I was getting suspicious and you didn't like that, so you made yourself look weak."

"I really should congratulate Nancy and Richard," he said quietly. "They've done so well with your training – you don't even recognise sense when it's right in front of you."

"They have done well – they managed to overthrow every single-"

"Shred of logic?" Remus suggested.

"No-"

"Ounce of reason?"

"Every single traitorous lesson _you_ tried to force on me! You say Father was terrible for Gifting us, but you're worse! You're too afraid to bite people, but you're just as happy as he is to take a new slate and to try to shape them into your little weapons. And then you include us in your little pack – make us feel _wanted_ – and then we get here, and realise you've made us outcasts, even amongst our own kind! And I think you love that, I think you love the fact that you can give us all the answers, and pretend to protect us, and-"

"Shut up, Deb," Matt said, yanking the curtain back. Debbie flinched. Matt's voice was level and just as playful as usual, but his eyes were hard. "I don't know what you mean by 'us', because I certainly don't agree with any of the rubbish you were just spitting out, and unless you and Remus had a secret pack that I wasn't a part of, I'm the only other person that it could be." Debbie's mouth opened and closed. "Get out," Matt said, almost kindly.

"No," she said shakily.

"I'm holding a pack meeting and since you've made it abundantly clear you don't want anything to do with either of us, you're not welcome to listen in," Remus said sarcastically.

"Matthew," Debbie said quietly, playing with her honey-coloured hair, "it's not too late- you can still choose-"

"I chose ages ago," Matt said, his tone getting very dark, very quickly. "If you want to believe that your 'gifting' was a gift to you, go for it."

"Delude away," Remus added sadly. Debbie's face hardened, and Matt smirked.

"Because from what I've seen – and I've had this for a lot longer than you have," Matt said, "Greyback calls it 'gifting' because he's giving himself a present every time he hurts someone."

"He does- did it for us- everything's for us," she insisted.

Matt snorted and said, "My 'Gifting' was a _gift_ to someone else. I was bitten to punish my parents for loving each other. If you can possibly see how that was for _me_, I'd love to hear about it." Debbie was silent. "That's what I thought," Matt said amicably. "Now, run along. We've got pack things to discuss." The second she was gone, Matt cast a Sticking Charm on the curtain and also put up a Silencing Charm. "Honestly, you'd think crazy was contagious! Who's the letter from?" Remus dug it out of his pocket and passed it over. Matt scanned it and his eyes widened.

"Wow," he said finally.

"Pretty much," Remus replied, massaging his temples.

"So- you're leaving then?"

"I- I have to be there for Sirius' trial-"

"You're not going to testify, are you?" Matt asked, gaping at him.

"I don't know," Remus sighed. "I want to-"

"It'd be stupid," Matt warned. "It might do him some good, but it's just as likely to end with you in a cell next to his."

"I know." Remus rubbed his eyes. "I've still got to go, though, even if I'm not going to say anything, I _can't_miss it. I have to be there- I have to know-"

"We'll go home tomorrow," Matt said, with a sad smile, passing the letter back. "We've done what we came for anyway."

"We?"

"You think I'm going to let you go home and mope?" Matt asked, looking at Remus as if he was mad.

"I don't need a babysitter," Remus grumbled. He tucked the letter back into its envelope and put it with the others in his pocket.

"No, but you need a friend right now, since your other one's in prison," Matt said flatly. Remus flinched, and Matt must have smelled the resignation because he grinned. "Glad that's settled." Remus grunted, not sure if he was grateful or exasperated. "So, who's your lady-friend?"

"Excuse me?" Remus asked faintly, at to his complete horror, he felt his cheeks redden.

"This Tonks person. Do I know her? Because the letter smells- are you blushin-"

"You know her as Tock," Remus said, hoping to distract Matt with a new piece of information. As he'd hoped, Matt forgot about the colour of Remus' face at once, in favour of gaping. _In for a knut, in for a galleon, _Remus thought. "And also as the Auror who saved you from Greyback. And she's not my lady-friend."

"Theodora Tock?" Matt asked. "She's an Aur- what?" Remus sighed and moved over so that Matt could sit down. Matt did – rather heavily – and Remus ran a hand through his hair. Remus could have lied, but he was sick of lying. And Matt knew about Sirius, which was the biggest secret anyway.

"It all starts with Sirius," he said, crossing his legs, and began with that first morning where Mad-Eye and Dora had broken into his cottage and ended with the morning after the last full moon, where he'd found out about Greyback, though he left out the part about crying on Dora. It was good to have someone finally know everything – even Sirius didn't, because he'd been locked up for nearly a month and quite a lot had happened since then. Matt was silent for almost a minute afterward.

"Huh," he said finally. "Well, it certainly explains a lot." Remus gave him a slightly sheepish smile. "So what'd you do?"

"Pardon?"

"Why's she furious?" Matt asked, smirking. Remus rolled his eyes, not liking Matt's tone or expression much at all.

"I'm sure it's not what you think."

"I think," Matt said innocently, "that it sounds an awful lot like you're ignoring her."

"There might be a bit of that," Remus admitted, and felt his face colour. "It's complicated."

"Is it?" Matt asked, probably well aware that the fact that Remus felt rather guilty and embarrassed had more to do with it than the complexity. Remus decided to pretend otherwise. "Do you want to talk about it? Talking helps."

"Not really," Remus said, grimacing. He knew he'd made a mess of a very good friendship without having someone else point it out further. Matt didn't look surprised. He looked amused and altogether too calm, and it was putting Remus on edge. "What?" Remus asked warily.

"Nothing," Matt said, hopping off the bed.

"Matt-"

"Remus," Matt retorted. Then he chuckled, patted Remus on the shoulder and – after removing the charms on the curtains – left.

"Bloody hell," Remus muttered for the second time that day.

* * *

Two days had passed since the Kelpie incident and McKinnon – apparently under the impression that if she left Harry alone for even a minute he'd get himself into some sort of trouble – was rarely further than a few steps from him at all times. It was quite an adjustment to make; Harry'd gone from having only Dobby for the first few days, to having constant human company

It had started off – unsurprisingly, since Harry'd heard Mr Malfoy shouting at her from outside the Manor – with an apology for leaving him unsupervised. Harry brushed it off; no one had been hurt – even Bosworth had only been a little bit terrorised – and Dobby'd needed her more than Harry had. Besides, she might have hurt the Kelpie who'd proven itself a reasonable creature.

McKinnon hadn't talked to him for the rest of that day – apparently her eight word apology had exhausted her speaking quota for the day – but the next afternoon they'd talked about Dobby, which was a nice, safe topic, and McKinnon had told him a little bit more about house elves. It was nothing new to Harry, but he appreciated the effort.

Draco'd avoided Harry for that first day after the incident – admittedly, he was out for most of it - but on the second day, he was back with a vengeance, apparently having decided he was drawing attention to himself and Harry by ignoring him. They'd gone flying, played chess – Harry had lost both games and Draco'd been smug since – and then Harry'd managed to talk him into a few games of Exploding Snap, which Draco'd seemed to enjoy more than Harry had expected him too.

Hydrus, predictably, had sulked in a corner with Bosworth and talked to the rat loudly about how dirty and barbaric it was. Draco'd sent his brother running to Mr Malfoy complaining about Draco insulting him, and then Draco'd promptly insulted Harry for his game choice, thanked him for playing, and gone to shower, leaving a confused and slightly offended Harry behind. True to his word, though, Draco hadn't mentioned the Kelpie once.

On the third day since the Kelpie incident, Harry woke early – he'd had a dream about Voldemort and not been able to get back to sleep – and crept downstairs to the kitchen. Dobby was awake – apparently the night before had been his gardening night and the elf hadn't slept – and preparing breakfast, and had been so distracted that he'd given Harry what he'd asked for without questioning it, and sent him on his way.

Harry made his way outside into the cool morning – it was May and starting to warm up, but the mornings were still cold – and sat down at the edge of the pond. He was probably getting mud on his silk pyjamas, but in two more days, they wouldn't be his anymore, and nor could he imagine the Malfoys keeping them for any reason - so he didn't think it mattered.

He set the plate down on the ground beside him, and then reached out to splash the water. He wasn't entirely sure why he was doing this, but he put it down to curiosity. That and Moony had a fascination with magical creatures, and Harry was sure he'd want stories. A few minutes later, a large, dark head appeared and Harry's mouth fell open.

"Padfoot?" he asked incredulously, but as soon as the words escaped him, he realised it wasn't. It was a very large, shaggy looking dog, but each clump of dark fur was actually a bulrush. And the eyes were the same gleaming blue as the snake's not Padfoot's warm grey. "Er... hi," Harry said uncertainly. The dog just stared at him, and then suddenly grew so that it was a horse, with bulrushes for its mane and tail. It stepped, dripping, out of the water and Harry tentatively reached for his wand, thinking that perhaps this had been a mistake.

It snorted at him and then waited expectantly but Harry, for some reason, had no clue what that was supposed to mean. It snorted again, sounding frustrated.

"Sorry, what?" Harry asked, inching back. There was a pop and the horse vanished and Harry jumped, startled, as something blue landed with a thump. It was the snake.

"How'ss thiss?" it said, slithering forward.

"I can understand you, if that's what you mean," Harry said, releasing his wand.

"Interessting." Harry didn't think the word was directed at him, so he didn't say anything. It cocked its head. "Can I help you, little sspeaker?"

"I brought you something," Harry said, offering it the plate of chicken. "I sort of ruined your last meal, so I thought-"

"Sstrange," the snake remarked, coming forward again. It coiled around the plate and its tongue flicked out to taste the air. "And unecessssary. But thankss, I ssupposse."

"You're welcome," Harry said, awkwardly. "Thanks again for not eating Bosworth."

"The rat?" The tongue flicked out again. "It ssmelled funny. Probably wouldn't have tassted very nice anyway." Harry fought a smile and lost, under the distinct impression it was lying. "Bessidess, I like my home. And now you should run along, little sspeaker. Interessting as you are, I have other thingss to do thiss morning."

"Er... sure," Harry said.

The snake didn't appear to hear him; it turned into a large, dark blue lion with a mane of bulrushes and snapped up the chicken in one mouthful. It growled at him and shrank until it was a bright blue mouse with a bulrush tail and stepped into the water. Then it was a snake again – and Harry got the impression it was showing off with its shape-shifting – and it slithered along the surface for a bit before going under where Harry couldn't see it anymore.

He washed his muddy hands in the water and wiped them on his pyjama trousers. Then he picked up the plate and headed back inside. Dobby was still preparing breakfast, and was apparently too tired to notice Harry return to the kitchen, wash the plate and put it away. Harry left without saying anything, and bumped into a frantic McKinnon. She calmed as soon as she realised it was him she'd knocked into.

"You're up early," she said, watching his face. Harry tried not to look guilty.

"Couldn't sleep," he said.

"Why not?" she asked, after a pause, startling him; Harry hadn't expected her to say anything. She smiled wryly at the look on his face.

"Dreams," Harry said, when it became apparent that she genuinely wanted an answer. Her smile slipped.

"Bad ones?"

"No, the good kind," Harry said, sarcastically, but there was no real bite in his voice. Then he realised that, while he could get away with a comment like that to any of the Malfoys, or to Padfoot or Moony, it was breaking the awkward, silent neutrality he and McKinnon had had. She looked shocked. "Sorry, that was rud-" But before he could finish, an amused snort had escaped her. Harry stared, and decided then and there that Draco wasn't the only one in this house he didn't understand.

"Don't apologise," she said after a moment. "You've got every right to be as rude to me as you want." Harry kept staring. "We're not exactly friends, are we?" She was right – she'd tried to arrest Padfoot last September – but she'd also been the one that found Padfoot after their visit to the cave and she'd kept him alive, and she'd been quiet but civil while she was on guard duty down in the cells.

"We're not enemies," Harry said finally, and headed down the hallway toward the foyer.

"Not- He didn't tell you?" she said quietly.

"Tell me what?" Harry asked, stopping. McKinnon's face was pale, and she shook her head. Harry knew she wasn't going to answer, but at least she hadn't said it was nothing, or pretended not to know what he was talking about.

"You don't hate me?" she whispered.

"No," Harry said warily. "Should I?"

"Probably. I thought-" McKinnon hugged herself, apparently unable to say what she'd thought. She laughed once, without humour this time. "I will _never_ understand him." Then, looking both guilty and hopeful, McKinnon asked, "So you don't mind if I talk to you?"

"Er... no?" Harry said, but it was almost a question. McKinnon's face lit up.

"I don't know where to start," she admitted. "I have so much I've wanted to ask- so much I've wanted to say." She was quiet for a bit – Harry continued through the house to the foyer, up the stairs, and into the library, where he found the book he'd been reading last night and sat down in one of the dark green armchairs. McKinnon sat down across from him, looking curious.

"What was your dream about?" she asked, and Harry groaned. She watched him expectantly.

"If you're not going to tell me why I should hate you, I'm not telling you that," he said stiffly.

She eyed him for a moment, and then, surprisingly, nodded and said, "Fair enough. Why- why did- why me? Why was I asked to guard you?"

"P- Sirius trusts you?" Harry suggested, shrugging.

"No," McKinnon said, quietly, but with conviction. Harry gave her an odd look.

"He must," Harry said slowly. "Otherwise he wouldn't have picked you. He takes my safety... er... seriously." He grimaced at the unintentional pun.

"But he can't- he's not allowed to trust me," she said, looking angry and miserable. Harry was alarmed to see tears building up in her eyes and hoped she wouldn't actually cry, because he didn't know her well enough to offer any sort of comfort.

"He wanted Mad-Eye – his old mentor?" Harry said, and then cursed himself; of course she knew who Mad-Eye was. "-but Dora and Scrimgeour said no, so Padfoot asked for you."

"I don't understand," she whispered, looking sad. She sniffed once. "Don't- just stay here and safe, all right?" McKinnon said thickly, getting to her feet. She hurried out of the library and Harry distinctly heard her sob. Harry decided then and there that he much preferred the company of girls like Keira and Ginny who didn't cry. Then he shook his head, and went back to reading his book, on spell creation; it was identical to the one he was supposed to have started reading at home – and Merlin that seemed like forever ago.

Harry flicked through to his page with a sigh, hoping for the thousandth time that week that Padfoot was okay.

* * *

"Everything's going about as well as you'd expect," Marlene said. She was sitting cross legged on her bed, cradling her Sidekick in her hands, talking to Gawain. "There haven't been any incidents since-"

"The Kelpie?" Gawain asked dryly. Marlene flushed, well able to imagine the look on his face, even if she couldn't see it.

"No. Harry's not really friendly with either of the boys, but he and Draco tolerate each other and Hydrus is too much like his father to try anything when he might be caught." McKinnon's lip curled, though she as thankful the boys weren't fighting; she didn't want Harry hurt, but alternatively, who knew what Sirius had taught Harry? Sons of Death Eaters or not, the Malfoy boys didn't even have wands yet.

"And what of Lucius?" Gawain asked.

"Still the same. Sickeningly friendly, asks a lot of questions for all the good it does him."

"Have you learned anything that could help us at the trial?"

"Only that Sirius has obviously been teaching Harry things. I told you about the _Finite_ on Dobby, but tonight he lit a fire in the library-"

"He _what_?!" Gawain shouted. "Was anyone hurt-"

"In the grate," Marlene said, rolling her eyes. "He said he was cold, but he should have called Dobby, or asked me, not done it himself..."

"Find out what he knows," Gawain said after a pause.

"How?" She and Harry had talked about Hogwarts and Quidditch a bit that afternoon, but if his deft avoidance of Lucius' questions was any indication, then asking would be a waste of time.

"I don't know," Gawain said tersely. "Invite him to duel you, or offer to teach him something. You know Black, and so you know Potter. Use that. Appeal to his competitive nature, or his inquisitive side, or something else."

"I'll try," Marlene said, a little doubtfully; Harry had his similarities to Sirius, of course, but there were just as many differences.

"Good girl." Marlene yawned so widely that her jaw cracked, and while she was tired, she expected she'd sleep just as poorly tonight as every other night; Harry wasn't the only one with bad dreams. Marlene's usually featured Sirius; either he was innocent, which terrified Marlene, because then she'd tried to kill an innocent man and was no better than she'd ever thought he was – Sirius usually ignored her in those - or the Sirius that featured was guilty, a murderous lunatic that killed innocents and told Marlene it was her fault for not killing him properly when she'd had the chance.

Of course, she could only dream if she actually got to sleep, and often, Marlene couldn't because she was so busy fretting over the Auror trainings she'd missed and what would happen if Sirius wasn't convicted in his trial; could she live with herself if she let the traitor go free? Or would she have to try to kill him again, and throw away the second chance Gawain had given her? She didn't know, and didn't think she would know until the Wizengamot reached a decision.

And, even if Marlene hadn't been struggling to sort through her opinions of Sirius, there was also the fact that she was trying to sleep in the house of the man who'd tried to kill her. She didn't really think Lucius would try anything, but it still worried her; she'd very nearly hexed him when he came to wake her on the second morning – she thought he'd come himself, just to scare her.

"-almost there," Gawain said, and Marlene's attention snapped back to her Sidekick. "Just two days to go, and everything will be done."

"I know," she said.

"I've got to go – I'm taking a lecture in the morning."

"Early?" Marlene asked.

"Early ceased to exist years ago," he told her. "But I suspect you'd find it early, yes. Your friend Prewett will probably miss it." Marlene laughed. There was a pause on Gawain's end, as if he couldn't believe she'd laughed – people seemed shocked to hear laughter from her these days – and then he cleared his throat. "Keep up to date with your reading, and we'll arrange for you to catch up the past week and a bit when you're done guarding Potter."

"Goodnight," she said.

"G'night, McKinnon." Marlene snapped her Sidekick closed and tossed it down onto the covers. Then she reached for her homework, which was piled on the bedside table and started to sort through it.

She had a list of things that Gawain had owled her and told her to learn, and she also had a dictated list from the other trainees, about what they'd actually learned; she'd talked to them last night. Tonks had called her through the Sidekick and Wellington, Prewett and the now ever-present Yaxley had obviously been with her when she did so, because they'd all called greetings or jokes in the background; Prewett had apparently fallen asleep at home and missed the first half of their evening session.

_Discuss the advantages and disadvantages of housing the accused in Ministry holding cells and not in Azkaban, pre-trial._

Marlene dipped her quill in ink and pulled her sheet of half finished answers toward her. Gawain had said they weren't supposed to cover the legal side of things until October, but they'd swapped that part of the curriculum with healing spells because of everything that was going on with Sirius. Marlene thought it was quite a good idea; Sirius wasn't good for much other than being a traitorous mass-murdering, lying lunatic, but at least he was able to – inadvertently – help train a new set of Aurors. She thought that would annoy him.

_Briefly outline legal and illegal methods of questioning during a trial._

Marlene had to consult one of her books for that, and spent the next hour making a concerted effort to get as much work out of the way as possible. Finally, she couldn't take anymore, and she snapped _Wizarding Law _shut and piled all of her work on the bedside table again.

_Wizarding Law_ was dull enough that she thought she might actually get to sleep if she just lay down and closed her eyes, but she forced herself to stand up and leave the room. A sleepy glance at her Sidekick told her it was just past twelve. She stumbled down the plushly carpeted hallway past the Malfoy boys' bedrooms and gently twisted the doorknob to Harry's room.

He was curled up on the window sill, fast asleep, his breath fogging the glass. His wand lay on the floor, still lit, and his glasses were hanging from one ear. Marlene stepped into the room and picked up his wand, which quivered, apparently not liking that she wasn't its true master.

"_Nox_," she said quietly, and put it on the bedside table. Then she returned to Harry, picked him up gently and carried him over to the enormous bed.

"Padfoot?" he asked blearily, as she set him down and tucked him in. His eyes didn't open, but he was smiling and he'd lifted an arm, as if to make room for a cat or a soft toy to be tucked under. Marlene looked around but couldn't see anything – whatever it was was probably back where he and Sirius had been living. After a moment, Harry frowned and let his elbow fall back to the bed, and though he wasn't really awake, Marlene got the impression he was disappointed.

Not in her, obviously – he probably didn't even know she was there – but it seemed that way. She'd tried to kill Sirius, who Harry -Merlin knew why - seemed to adore. She'd expected Harry to hate her, or fear her, or at least be wary of her. She didn't have any choice but to follow him around, but she'd tried to be as distant as possible, and give him an escape from her that way. And maybe she was a bit afraid that he'd reject her himself, and she didn't think she could take that, even though she probably deserved it from his viewpoint.

Except Sirius hadn't said a word. Harry _didn't know_. She almost wished he did; now she could either keep avoiding him – which probably made Harry think she was an awfully cold, heartless cow – or she could talk to him, befriend him, and feel awful on the inside, because no matter how much Sirius deserved to die, Harry would see it as a betrayal when he found out. And, as much as she wanted to get to know Lily and James' son, she didn't think that she could set him up to get hurt. Not deliberately. That was Sirius' job. Marlene was a worse person that Gawain liked to think, but she was better than Sirius.

Why was it, that every time she tried to do the right thing, things seemed to backfire on her? First Sirius survived, then Harry didn't hate her and therefore didn't know why she – who he'd probably seen as an ally in this snake pit until she actually arrived – was being so distant.

_Maybe because it's not the right thing, _suggested a voice that sounded a lot like her own from before the war, before Sirius changed sides, before everything. Marlene ignored it. She'd been young then, and stupid. If her present self didn't know what was right and what wasn't, then her younger self certainly wouldn't.

"Goodnight, Harry," she said quietly, and suspected it would be him and how to treat him she thought about tonight while she was trying to sleep.

* * *

**Hi, everyone!**

**As you know, I don't usually do author's notes, but I've been asked by several of you to pass on the news that the SOPA (Stop Online Piracy Act) law is trying to be passed in America.**

**For those of you who don't know what it is, it's a rather extreme law which will prohibit the online usage of any copyrighted material; this means no fanfiction, no reblogging on tumblr, no fanart, no youtube video game walkthroughs, no song covers on youtube, etc.**

**There are petitions you can vote on/sign (if you're an American citizen) to stop this law going through, and you can find them by googling SOPA petition. If you're against this being passed, take a moment to sign the petition, and also pass this message onto anyone else who can help.**

**MarauderLover7.**


	53. The Night Before

"I think the muggleborns are to blame," Draco said abruptly. Severus looked up from the corner, where he was stirring a small cauldron.

"Oh?" he asked, squeezing his stirring rod so tightly it was in danger of bending.

"Well, Gryffindor-" Draco's lip curled as he said the name of the man that – if everything continued the way Narcissa intended – had given his name to Draco's future House. "-promised they'd be friends – brothers, even – but he didn't keep it, did he?" Severus filled a phial of the potion – it looked rather like liquid fog – and then deposited the rest of it into a large jar which he sealed and sent to sit on his desk.

"No, he didn't," Severus agreed.

"He just sent his best friend away."

"He did."

"And it's because of the muggleborns," Draco said derisively. "Gryffindor and Slytherin were good friends and they were powerful, and muggleborns came between them. They didn't have any right to do that. They should just stay out of wizarding things, because they seem to mess everything up."

"Why muggleborns?" Severus asked.

"Exactly," Draco said, looking pleased with himself.

_Your breeding is showing, Draco, _Severus thought disdainfully. "No," Severus bit out, pocketing the phial, "what I mean is: why are muggleborns different?"

"They have filthy bl-"

"If you finish that sentence," Severus snarled, "I will force you to sample every potion ingredient as you rearrange them the next time you visit me."

"But they d-"

"My stores contain sloth brains and acromantula venom, and powdered troll toenails," Severus said loudly, and Draco shut his mouth, looking ill. "Come here." Draco baulked.

"I didn't say it- I stopped-"

"_Now_," Severus said, and Draco leaped off his seat as if burned and made his way over reluctantly. After just two steps, he squared his shoulders and lifted his chin, apparently resigned to whatever fate it was that he thought Severus had planned. Severus had no intention of feeding him anything nasty, but he _was_ going to give his godson a message that would hopefully stay with him for the rest of his hopefully lengthy life. "Give me your hand." Draco stuck it out, and Severus grabbed the boy's wrist and pulled him closer.

"What-"

"_Sectum_," Severus said, slashing his wand through the air. Draco gasped and made a sound suspiciously like a squeal, clutching his bleeding hand. Severus repeated the spell on his own hand, grimacing because it stung, and then put his wand down in his lap and grabbed Draco's wrist again.

"Oww," Draco said pitifully. "You _cut_ me!"

"My mother came from a pureblood line as impressive as your own," Severus said, ignoring this and placing his hand beside Draco's. "My father was a muggle." Draco gasped even louder than he had when Severus had cut his palm. "According to your theory, I should have _filthy _blood. Does my blood look filthy to you?"

"N-no," Draco said faintly, looking at their hands, and then away. He seemed a little squeamish.

"Is mine perhaps darker? Is it brown, like mud? Does yours glitter like liquefied rubies in contrast?"

"N-no," Draco squeaked. Severus had seen ghosts with more colour. Severus released him and picked up his wand to heal his own palm. Draco's, however, he only healed partially. It wasn't in any danger of splitting open again, or getting infected, but neither had the skin knitted together as neatly as Severus'. Draco's would scar.

Draco sank to the floor, staring at the pink line on his hand, and Severus wondered momentarily if he'd been too harsh. Then he shrugged it off. This was something Draco would do well to remember; if he joined the Dark Lord, then at least he would understand that he was slaughtering people, not animals, and if it really hit home, then perhaps it would be that much easier to encourage Draco to join Dumbledore.

"I will ask you again," Severus said, breaking the silence. "What, given your recent... _enlightenment,_ makes us – the supposedly _proper_ wizarding stock – so superior to muggleborns?" Draco was quiet and Severus was pleased because it meant that Draco was obviously thinking about it.

"We know about magic," he said eventually, still cradling his hand. "They don't think to use their wands for simple tasks like we do, and they don't know any spells before they go to school-"

"You know spells now, then?" Severus asked.

"I know a few," Draco said defensively. "I don't have my wand yet, so-"

"So your proper magical education has not yet begun. And I daresay it will not begin, until you step off the Hogwarts Express for the first time."

"I guess," Draco mumbled, and Severus was relieved he didn't suggest that muggleborns learned more slowly or something equally ludicrous. "Is it how powerful they are? We've had magic longer, so-"

"I have known powerful witches and wizards of _all_ heritage," Severus said.

"Looks, then," Draco said, with certainty.

"You can tell heritage with a look?" Severus asked, mockingly impressed. "Then I commend you on your acting ability; you seemed genuinely surprised when I revealed the truth about my father." Draco flushed.

"Then what's the difference?!" he demanded.

"You haven't worked it out?" Severus asked, arching an eyebrow. Draco glared at him. "The difference, Draco, between a muggleborn and a pureblood, is that one has magical parents and the other does not."

"That- no, that doesn't count!"

"Then I suppose it's nothing." Severus cast a charm to fill his cauldron with soapy water and conjured a wiry brush to scrub it.

"Nothing?" Draco asked, looking angry. "But- if they're not different, then what's the problem with them?"

"Who says there is one?" Severus asked curtly.

"You don't think there is?" Draco snapped, folding his arms.

"I don't think my opinion matters," Severus said. "You should be free to reach your own conclusions on the matter."

"Then why-"

"Because, Draco, in order to reach a conclusion, one must have _all_ of the information, not merely one side of it." Draco glared at him, but Severus could see him processing everything he'd learned. Severus had given him the book on the Founders with the intention of having him learn a bit more about conflict, its causes and possible outcomes, as well as to give him a break from labour. And of course, to teach him that there were always two sides to an argument. He had _not _intended for it to be a lesson on prejudices. _Better now than never, I suppose. _"Are you ready to go home?"

"Yes," he said sulkily, and then brightened a bit. "Can I take the book?"

"Of course," Severus said, and Draco scurried over to get it. "But I expect it back tomorrow." Severus' hand brushed his pocket to make sure the Occlusion Potion was still there, and some of his anxiety – which had faded while he was brewing, and while he was arguing with his godson – returned. He was just glad it was a Saturday, because he wasn't really in any state to deal with multiple children today. "Are you expecting your mother to be home this afternoon?"

"Father's busy with the Minister," Draco said.

"That is not what I asked."

"Mother doesn't do politics," Draco said snidely, and Severus choked on a snort of laughter. "So _yes_, obviously she'll be there, so I _did_ answer your question."

"Shall we go then?" Severus asked, pulling his office door open. His heart thudded almost painfully in his chest. _The things I do for you, Lily..._

"But Dobby usually- wait, _we?_"

* * *

The Manor gate chimed and Narcissa looked up. In the seat next to hers, Hydrus' eyes, a clear blue like Narcissa's own, immediately moved away from the star charts they'd been looking over.

"Just because I'm not here does not mean you're finished," she said, reaching out as if to pat her older son's hair. Then she thought better of it; Hydrus wouldn't appreciate the gesture. "I expect you to still be here when I come back. Am I clear?"

"Yes, Mother," he said sulkily. She offered him an approving look – the sort that she'd received from her own mother as a child – and swept out of the room.

McKinnon and the Potter boy were coming through the foyer – probably from the kitchen – as she came downstairs. Young Potter looked curiously at her – they were yet to receive a visitor in his time at the Manor – but McKinnon shepherded him toward the courtyard before he could show any signs of lingering.

Her guests were waiting outside the front door, rather than at the gate – that startled her, because only a Malfoy or Dobby could open the gate. The reason for that quickly became apparent when she opened the door to find Draco and Severus.

"Mother," Draco said, perking up. He hugged her – a little awkwardly, because he had a large book under one arm – and then backed down the steps and around the side of the Manor. Narcissa expected he was off to find a tree to read in or under.

"Severus," she said politely. "Were you hoping to see Lucius-"

"Draco tells me he is with the Minister, preparing for tomorrow," Severus replied, patting his pocket almost absentmindedly. "But that matters little; I was hoping to have a word with you." Narcissa's eyes flicked to the corner Draco had disappeared around moments before and nodded, standing aside to let him in.

"Hydrus!" she called. "The lesson's over!" She didn't want him sitting there alone for however long this took. "Lucius' study is free," she said, and Severus strode past her in that direction while she closed the door.

"How is your... houseguest?" Severus asked as they walked.

"Which one?" Narcissa asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Potter," Severus drawled, saying the name as if it was an expletive.

"Everything I feared and hoped," she replied quietly. "Very polite, although I don't think he likes it here terribly much. Quiet, but every inch a Gryffindor, I think, if the Kelpie is anything to go by-"

"Kelpie?"

"Draco didn't mention it?" she asked, and Severus' face was unreadable. "Potter saved our little ratty friend," Narcissa said, in a voice barely louder than a murmur, as she pushed open the door of Lucius' office.

"From a _Kelpie_?" Severus spluttered, looking aghast. "But-"

"A hex of some sort was involved, or so I'm led to believe," Narcissa said, closing the door behind Severus. "The boy's quite bold." Severus scowled, apparently recovered from his shock, or at least recovered enough to hide it. _And loveable_, she added in her head. Potter was the sort of child she could see herself growing to care for, if she wasn't careful.

"Indeed," Severus said flatly, and then he was quiet for a long time. Narcissa sat down in Lucius' chair behind the desk, and Severus pulled his own chair over from the corner. "You're certain it was Pettigrew?" Severus asked finally.

"Positive," Narcissa said coolly. Severus looked thoughtful. "What did you want to talk about?"

"Draco cannot trust you?" Severus asked silkily. Narcissa had no reason to doubt him, but for some reason, she didn't believe that was what he'd come for.

"No," Narcissa said, picking at a loose thread of silver embroidery on her sleeve.

"May I ask why?" Narcissa looked up, one side of her mouth twisting into a smile.

"You may," she said, "but I cannot promise a truthful answer. After all, if my son is unable to trust me, should you?"

"I'm not in the mood for your mind games, Narcissa," Severus said irritably. She arched an eyebrow; her entire life was a mind-game at the moment. "Why?"

"It's none of your concern," she said finally, unable to look the Potions Master in the eye. For all that he pretended he was Dumbledore's, Severus belonged to the Dark Lord. He wouldn't take it well if she admitted it was to open Draco's mind to the possibility of joining Dumbledore's side. She was probably years ahead of herself with her warning to Draco, but something told her it was best to plant the seed early, even if lay dormant for a few years more.

"Then why me?" he asked. "Why can he trust me and not you?"

"You're his godfather, and his teacher," she said, arching an eyebrow. "And," she admitted, in a quieter voice. "I can't bring myself to destroy all of his foundations just yet. He still needs- someone-"

"And what if I am _not_ that someone?" Severus asked, sounding angry.

"You survived the war," Narcissa said finally, tucking her hair behind her ear. "_That_ is what this is about. This is about Draco's survival, remember?" _It is about giving one of my sons a choice, and giving him the skills he will need to not be killed for it._ There was half a chance that Draco would even turn against Severus before everything was done. And, if Severus did his job properly, then he wouldn't have any more idea that Draco had turned than Narcissa would.

"I don't like it."

"I'm not asking you to."

"No, but you've asked everything else," Severus said, with almost-humour in his voice now. Narcissa's answering smile was wry; she thought Severus understood on some subconscious level that Narcissa was only using him to protect Draco, but thankfully, he hadn't realised it properly.

"Was that all you wanted?" she asked. Severus started to rise from his seat.

"Yes, that was all I came to ask," he said. "I did not receive the answers I was hoping for, but at this point, I think I should have known better."

"Probably," Narcissa agreed, also standing.

"Are you attending tomorrow?" Severus asked, gesturing to a folded copy of the _Prophet_ on Lucius' desk. Narcissa tilted her head to read it.

"The trial?" she asked. "No. Lucius is taking Potter in-"

"And bringing him back afterward?" Narcissa grimaced. She hadn't yet managed to come up with anything to stop that from happening, but she knew that the chances of Sirius being proven innocent were slim; Lucius was working closely with Fudge to ensure that Sirius would _not_ be freed. The only thing she'd been able to think of was turning Pettigrew in, but despite hours of thought given to the matter, she still wasn't convinced that that was the best decision for her; turning Pettigrew in would lead to him being questioned, and Narcissa was involved. She'd housed the rat for a year now.

If Pettigrew was found, he'd be charged and she and Lucius would be too, right alongside him. And, while she didn't want to end up raising Potter, she'd rather do that than sit in Azkaban with her husband and sister.

"Probably," Narcissa said grudgingly. Severus nodded to himself, as if she'd confirmed something, and reached for the doorknob. His hand never made it, however. "Severus?"

"What if Pettigrew goes to the trial?" he asked stiffly, as if he'd just realised something.

"What?" Narcissa asked doubtfully. She wasn't sure that Pettigrew had a selfless bone in his body. "Severus, do you know how ridiculous-"

"Potter saved him," Severus said tersely, patting his pocket again. Narcissa wondered whether it was a new nervous habit of his, or if it was deliberate. Narcissa stared at him, not following. "How familiar are you with the concept of life-debts?"

* * *

"When did you get back?" Harry asked, looking up as Draco appeared around the corner of the Manor.

"Just now," he said. "Move, please."

"Wh-"

"Move, Potter," Draco said irritably. McKinnon looked like she might intervene, but Harry just met Draco's stare evenly. "You're blocking my tree."

"Sorry," Harry said, rolling his eyes. He did, however, shift over. Draco looked at the spot where he'd been sitting with a curled lip but flopped down anyway, and opened his book.

"Why'd you come to the door? Why not just Apparate in?" Harry asked.

"Severus wanted a word with Mother," Draco said, flicking to his page. He settled into the grass and his eyes drifted to his book.

_Severus... as in _Snape?Harry wondered, his eyes widening. _What's Snape doing here?_

"What are you reading?" McKinnon asked.

"It's a book on the history of the Founders," Draco said, without looking up. Harry eyed the house and then McKinnon, who looked intrigued.

"Is it interesting?" Harry asked casually.

"No, Potter. It's frightfully _boring _and I'm reading it for fun." Draco looked up for a moment, wearing an expression of such sincere curiosity that Harry was momentarily drawn out of his thoughts on Snape. "Are you actually so dim that you had to ask, or-"

"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry said, glowering at him.

"Hit a nerve, did I, Potter?"

"No," Harry said, rolling his eyes. Draco squinted at him for a moment. "What?" Harry snapped.

"I'm trying to work out if you're lying or not."

"Er... right," Harry said. He really should be used to Draco's polar personalities by now. He shook his head and got to his feet.

"Where are you going?" McKinnon asked.

"Stay here," Harry told her, in a sharper voice than was probably necessary. McKinnon looked hurt and then resigned. "I'm just going to the bathroom."

"Do you think he's lying?" he heard Draco ask in a perplexed tone.

Harry didn't hear McKinnon's response. He went into the courtyard, slipped in through the back doors and then crept down the hallway. If Snape and Mrs Malfoy were talking, they'd either be in the library, or in Mr Malfoy's study, and the study at least, was near the bathroom.

_Yes_, Harry thought, as Snape's voice drifted through the closed study door.

"-ly exists if one or both parties are aware of the debt's existence."

"And is that likely?" Mrs Malfoy asked in a low voice. Harry struggled to hear her.

"Who knows what Black's told Potter? And Pettigrew-" Harry inhaled sharply and crept as close to the door as he dared. "-has proven more than enough times that he's not to be underestimated. He's a fool, but he is not an idiot."

"So if they know- if one of them knows, Potter could have him do anything?" Harry's breath caught.

"Anything," Snape repeated grimly. "He'd die if Potter told him to-"

Harry heard footsteps and had just enough time to launch himself into the bathroom across the hallway. He stepped out, pretending to dry his hands on his trousers and saw McKinnon standing there.

"You're here," she said.

"Where else would I be?" Harry asked. His mind was reeling; what was this power he apparently had over Peter? And where was he? Obviously Snape and Mrs Malfoy knew, which meant Snape had been lying when he told Padfoot he didn't know where to find Peter. And though Harry didn't really like Snape, he still felt betrayed. Snape had seemed – in his own, slightly scary way – concerned for Harry's safety on several occasions, but obviously that had been false; Harry'd be better off if Peter was in Azkaban but Snape hadn't done anything about that.

"Did you want to go back outside?"

"Sure," he said, and followed her back to the tree where Draco was sitting. Draco didn't acknowledge either of them, and Harry sat down without saying anything else to McKinnon, while thoughts about Snape and his betrayal bounced around in his head.

Harry decided to think about that later, and focused on the matter at hand; Peter. The way Snape and Mrs Malfoy'd been talking made it sound like he was closely connected to them – Snape had sounded _worried_ when he said Harry could make Peter do anything. It was even possible that he was nearby, but Harry doubted it. He knew from old photographs what Peter looked like, but unless he was disguised as Dobby or something, Harry hadn't seen any men wandering around.

It was also possible he was a rat, but while Harry'd been suspicious of Bosworth and Roquefort initially, but they were too dark to match Peter's fair colouring and more importantly, neither of them were missing fingers. Hiding in plain sight was possible – maybe Peter'd somehow grown his finger back, and maybe there were charms on him to darken his coat – but to have him as a pet? The Malfoys were careful people – Padfoot had said it and Harry had seen it during his stay – and having Peter in the Manor seemed too risky.

He was probably in hiding somewhere isolated – maybe the Malfoys had bought him a cottage or something? Or maybe Peter was abroad, and looking for Voldemort, and was in contact with Mr Malfoy? Harry wished he knew. If he had Peter, Padfoot wouldn't even need tomorrow's trial. He'd be released on the spot.

Harry wished Padfoot or Moony – preferably both - were here with him. They'd know what to make of this, be able to use it somehow.

_Only they aren't here_, Harry thought glumly. Then he set his jaw. _I s'pose that means it's up to me._

* * *

Narcissa leaned back into her husband's chair, an intensely thoughtful look on her face. Severus waited. On the outside, he looked nervous- worried, even. On the inside, he was wary and hopeful, and above all, annoyed that this was necessary.

"Can you be certain that it'll manifest in that way?" Narcissa asked. "You said that these debts are only valid if one or both parties is aware of its existence-"

"Either of them could be," Severus said.

"But if they're not-"

"Can we really afford to take that risk?" Severus asked, and Narcissa bit her lip. "In all likelihood, nothing at all will come of it. Pettigrew will probably _not_ be compelled to turn himself in-"

"Then-"

"-but _if_ he is, I am not the only one who will lose everything."

"You're right." It was spoken quietly, in a shocked yet determined tone. Severus gave himself a mental pat on the back and tried not to look too smug.

"Unfortunately," he said, assuming his gravest expression. Narcissa's eyes met his and he blinked once, deliberately, before turning to look out the window. An albino peacock strutted past and Severus shook his head and turned back to her.

"So what should we do?"

"I've been aware of this problem for as long as you have," he said, and that was true. He'd only thought of the Life-Debt idea a few minutes ago. _And thank Merlin for that. _Pettigrew needed to be... relieved of several memories, but until now, Severus hadn't had any idea how to go about that; he'd have probably had to break in and subdue the rat and Hydrus with brute force. With Narcissa on board, that could be avoided.

"Can we- is there any way we could force him to forget?"

"Like a Memory Charm?" Severus asked silkily.

"Memory Charms can be broken," she said. "Severus, the mind is your area of expertise. There must be something-"

"Perhaps there is," Severus stood up and went to look out the window again so she wouldn't see the relief on his face. Narcissa was silent, allowing him to think. "There is a potion that can be administered and used in conjunction with Legillimency to place blocks in the subject's mind. Pettigrew will remember everything, but the information will be trapped in his mind. It will not be allowed to escape in any verbal or visual manner, and it will be impossible to pluck from his mind as well."

"Can it be broken?"

"It is permanent," Severus said, glancing over his shoulder.

"I've never heard of it," Narcissa said.

"It is a complex and rather obscure piece of magic," Severus drawled, and thankfully, she backed down. Severus had no intention of telling her he'd spent the past few days creating it.

"How long does it take to brew?" she asked.

"Seventeen hours," he said, and she raised an eyebrow. "But with luck, I will be able to locate some of it in my stores." His hand brushed the phial in his pocket again. He'd brought it with him in case it began to look like force would be necessary, but now that he had Narcissa on his side, it would be easy to pretend to go back and get it

"You have some?"

"I certainly hope so," he replied. "While I'm there, collect the rat and bring him here. I'll need a few hours to sift through his memories and anchor the potion to the right ones." Narcissa bowed her head. "I intend to try to use something broad, like the Manor and its grounds; the potion should then trap the memories that occurred here in the past, and if I do it properly, should also place future memories under the block as well."

"What about the times he's left the house?"

"Think back," Severus advised. "Try to remember the times that he's left, and inform me so that I know what I am looking for." He turned away from the window and strode to the door. "I'll be back within the hour."

* * *

Peter blinked himself awake and a soft squeak of unease escaped him. His head hurt and his sensitive nose was clogged with something that smelled a bit like wet smoke. It was unpleasant. Peter also couldn't remember the last few hours; last thing he knew, he'd been given a chunk of biscuit by Narcissa and then... blank. Peter didn't remember anything of it either. His head ached dully and he rolled over in his velvety bed and peered off the edge of the bedside table at Hydrus, who was snoring quietly in his own bed, oblivious.

Peter sniffed his fur and wrinkled his nose. He smelled like smoke and Snape. What had Snape been doing here, and why in Merlin's name had he wanted Peter? He wasn't sure that he wanted to find out. Snape had been a Death Eater, yes, but he'd never really liked Peter, and he'd been Dumbledore's pet for as long as Scabbers had been Percy's. Who knew where his true loyalties lay these days?

Peter glanced at Hydrus again and slipped out of his box-bed. One awkward jump-fall later and Peter had made it to Hydrus' bed and then it was a simple matter of sliding awkwardly down the side of the sheets to the floor. Hydrus grunted and rolled over. Peter ran straight for the door. It was only a few yards, but he was panting by the time he got there. He was fitter as Bosworth than he had been as Scabbers but it was still a long way for such a small creature. Peter could have covered it in a few steps.

The hallway was easier – he didn't bother running that length – and he just walked in the shadows by the fancy wooden skirting. The stairs were another matter altogether. Peter hated stairs more as Wormtail than he did as a human, but both Peter and Wormtail'd take going down over going up any day. He must have looked funny, awkwardly swinging himself over the ledge of each and then slowly trying to lower himself to the next one. It was the sort of thing that his old friends would have found amusing. He could almost imagine them laughing.

Peter knew how to handle that, though; he'd been doing it for years. He paused to clean his whiskers and then made his way down the last half of the staircase. Their voices were still in his head when he reached the ground floor, but voices weren't exactly new to him. These had been with him for years, appearing conveniently during times of stress or self-doubt.

_So, regularly._ He could handle the demons inside his head. He had practice with those. It was the ones on the outside – the Malfoys and Snape – that might hurt him. Remus was even worse, because he lived inside and outside. Remus, the friend who'd trusted him, who'd been betrayed by him, the friend who'd surely try to kill Peter if he had any idea of the truth. Yes, Remus was terrifying.

And yet, Remus had _nothing _on Sirius. Sirius _did_ know the truth, and Sirius _had_ tried to kill him. The scariest part of all of that was that he didn't blame Sirius. Sirius was probably doing the right thing. Peter hadn't been a good man for a long time, but he still knew what the right thing to do looked like. He also knew he saw the opposite when he looked in a mirror. He saw himself alive, not Lily and James. He saw Sirius' arrest in the paper, and the news of his impending trial. He saw-

Harry.

Harry was every mistake Peter had ever made.

Harry was the boy who'd lived because Lily, James and the Dark Lord had died to make it so. Harry was the boy who hadn't died later that night because Peter'd hesitated, and then been interrupted by Sirius and Hagrid. Harry was the reason Peter had had to run. If Harry'd died, Sirius would have broken. Sirius would have had nothing and no one to avenge. Peter knew Sirius had never done it for Lily and James, or even for himself. Sirius would have died that night, and been spared Azkaban. Peter'd never wanted prison for his old friend.

But prison was what Sirius had received, and Peter had lost a finger and Remus had been doomed to a life of misery. And Peter had spent years in hiding, not allowed to show his face because both sides thought he'd failed them. And he'd made his peace with that. Almost. Except then Sirius had escaped and Harry had met Percy's brother Ron and Peter was running from Harry bloody Potter again. Then things had gone mercifully quiet, except for whatever had happened at St Mungo's. Peter'd settled down again.

And then Sirius and Harry were arrested, and their faces were everywhere again. Peter hadn't liked that, but he'd adjusted. Sirius would go back to Azkaban, since the only proof he had was Peter and Peter was staying well away. And he'd tried. Oh, he'd tried. Harry'd come to him instead.

Peter'd thought there was a Boggart loose in Malfoy Manor the night Harry Potter arrived. Luckily, he hadn't had to meet the boy properly until a few days later. He'd been back under control by that time, back to his role as fully-fingered, unassuming, slightly-darker-than-Wormtail Bosworth. And that was a very good thing. There was no telling how he might have reacted if Harry'd been sprung on him.

Pain stabbed through Peter's head, blinding him for a moment. He let out a small squeak of distress and curled into a ball until it passed. A floorboard creaked nearby and Peter forced himself to move into the shadow of a vase that was probably worth more than Peter's old house.

"_Nox,_" he heard a quiet voice say. A moment later, a small figure peered into the foyer. Peter saw messy hair briefly outlined by moonlight, and the flash of glasses. He sat very still, and then Harry disappeared back down the corridor. The only things down there were a bathroom and Lucius' office, and Peter doubted Harry was using that bathroom in the middle of the night when there was a perfectly good one upstairs.

He was up to something, that was for sure. And while Peter was no genius, he didn't think it was a coincidence that he was missing several hours of memories of the night because of Snape, or that Harry was up in the middle of the night – the night before Sirius' trial, no less - snooping around Lucius' office. No, Peter wasn't a genius, but he wasn't an idiot. He wouldn't have survived this long if that was the case.

He'd have left, even if he hadn't seen Harry. He didn't really think the Malfoys would hand him over to the Aurors. They didn't give a damn about Sirius, and Lucius was keen to adopt Harry if the past week had been any indication. Besides, if they turned him in, he'd make sure they went down with him. No, he didn't think he needed to worry about them. Snape though... what had Snape done without Peter knowing? Had he put him under a spell, or fed him some sort of potion?

Peter got the uncomfortable feeling that he'd find out sooner rather than later, and he wasn't going to stick around and wait for it to happen. If he was going to fall unconscious, he wasn't going to do it here. If he was about to experience an urge to turn himself in, or help free Sirius, he was going to deal with that alone.

Peter survived by doing things that no one else expected. Everyone expected him to be here, playing Bosworth, so he'd be elsewhere. Somewhere no one would ever suspect. He'd come back tomorrow when the trial was done and Sirius was safely back in Dementor custody. He was sick of running, sick of hiding, but hopefully, this would be the last time. Comforted by that thought, Peter scurried into the drawing room, and transformed.

The room shrank around him and Peter cringed. He was always claustrophobic when he returned to being Peter after a long time as Wormtail. He also felt a bit panicky. Wormtail was safe, unobtrusive. Peter was bigger, slower, and more likely to be hit with a spell if someone decided to send one in his direction. He took a few deep breaths and stepped forward carefully, giving his body time to adjust. He grabbed a pinch of Floo powder and whispered the password that he'd heard Lucius use to leave that morning. Green flames flared in the grate and Peter stepped into them.


	54. Falling Apart

The usually calm and dignified Malfoy household was anything but on the morning of Black's trial. Lucius was shaken awake by his frantic son a little after five to be given the news that Bosworth the rat had disappeared overnight.

"Potter had something to do with it, I know he did!" Hyrdus said, turning to a sleepy Narcissa. Lucius exchanged a look with his wife and both of them got up and followed Hydrus to his bedroom, where the box that Pettigrew had slept in for the past year sat, empty.

"I don't think Mr Potter has stolen Bosworth," Narcissa said, sharing another look with Lucius, who could feel his entire world threatening to crumble. One of three things had happened; Pettigrew had been kidnapped (if that was the case, then Lucius would bet his Gringotts account that it was McKinnon's fault), Pettigrew had had a rush of conscience in the middle of the night and turned himself in – in which case his name would be all over the _Prophet _– or Pettigrew had gone into hiding again, just in case. Lucius prayed it was the last option, though he doubted he'd be that lucky.

A flick of his wand confirmed that the only living things in the house were his family, Potter, McKinnon, Dobby, and their owl.

"What if he does, though?" Hydrus asked, glaring at them both. Lucius pinched the bridge of his nose because it was far too early for him to be bothered dealing with his son's tantrums on top of losing Pettigrew.

"As Mr Potter is responsible for saving Bosworth," he said, "I find it unlikely that he bears the rat any ill will, or would play any part in his kidnapping."

"But what-"

"Go back to bed," Narcissa said, placing a hand on Hydrus' shoulder. "Perhaps he's just gone for a walk."

"If he's not there when you wake, tell us immediately," Lucius advised, as Hydrus got back into bed. "Though it's best not to mention this to Mr Potter, just in case. If he has played some part in this, we don't want him knowing we suspect him." Hydrus nodded solemnly and Lucius thanked Merlin that his elder son, at least, took his advice without question. If it had been Draco, there would have been a thousand questions in place of the nod.

"Sleep. You'll want to be well rested for our visit to Aunt Bella," Narcissa said, and Hydrus' face scrunched up.

_Yes, _Lucius thought, _because telling him _that _will help the boy sleep. _Bellatrix was enough to keep him up some nights and he was a grown man. He shook his head and followed his wife out of the room.

"I'll Floo Severus," Narcissa said in a low voice. "Have Dobby help you read the wards and see if he's left magically."

One hour later, and Lucius was no closer to finding Pettigrew and he'd have been impressed if he wasn't so furious. The rat knew how to hide, and it was as undeniable as it was frustrating. According to Dobby, he'd used the Floo – Lucius didn't even want to think about how he'd got his paws on the password – and gone to the Leaky Cauldron. That fireplace was used regularly, at all hours of the day and night so he'd be impossible to track that way, curse him.

And so it was that Lucius was reduced to pouring himself a – very – small glass of brandy at six in the morning. And, if that wasn't pathetic enough, Narcissa and Severus walked in just as he was taking his first sip.

"Starting early are we, Lucius?" Severus drawled. Lucius spared a glower for his old friend and tossed his drink back.

"It's not without cause, I assure you."

"So I've been told," Severus said, glancing at Narcissa. "Might I ask why you've called me here, though? Surely you don't think I have anything to do with it?"

"Of course not," Lucius snapped. "But as the only other person who knows him-"

"If you're hoping for character analysis, you'd be better trying Lupin," Severus said, his lip curling. "I haven't the faintest idea where the rat might have got to, I'm afraid." And he did look genuinely infuriated at that. Lucius lifted the bottle of brandy, and Severus smirked and shook his head. Lucius sighed and resisted the temptation to have another glass. "I can, however, assure you that, should he be caught, he will not be able to reveal anything... incriminating... about the three of us."

"He- truly?" Narcissa inclined her head.

"I was speaking with Severus when he returned Draco yesterday-"

"Those lessons are still happening?" Lucius asked, momentarily distracted. "Draco can be a Slytherin again; we have Potter-"

"For the time being," Severus said silkily. "Nothing is official yet, and both Narcissa and I felt it was safer to continue the lessons until things are concreted." Lucius shook his head. He still wasn't entirely sure what Narcissa thought Draco would gain in his Gryffindor-lessons with Severus – Severus was Head of Slytherin, not Gryffindor, for Merlin's sake - but he wasn't about to argue, because he had been noticing changes in Draco's behaviour.

"Very well. Now, Pettigrew?"

"Narcissa mentioned the Kelpie incident-" Lucius nodded stiffly. "-and I worried that it may have invoked a Life-Debt. Narcissa knows the details," Severus said, when Lucius opened his mouth to ask what that was, "and is able to explain the rest later. To summarise, I feared that Pettigrew might be... prompted – consciously, or even without him realising it – to turn himself in, and I feared for our safety. I was able to administer a potion, which, combined with Legillimency, prevents the divulgence of particular memories."

"Thank Merlin," Lucius breathed, and just like that, his day looked a bit brighter.

Another hour later, Severus was gone, and Lucius thoroughly regretted that he'd let the idea of a brighter day ever pass through his head. Dobby was enlisted by Hydrus to help find Bosworth, and so wasn't paying proper attention to breakfast. Lucius ordered Dobby down into the kitchen to close his ears in the oven, but it didn't change the fact that Lucius' breakfast had been burned and was utterly unpleasant. He'd sipped on his tea – and had not even bothered to add sugar to it – and watched the chaos as it unfolded around him.

Potter was the first one downstairs, and for the first time in days, McKinnon wasn't with him. He was is his pyjamas, which had become _normal_ for the boy, and Lucius vowed silently that as soon as this day was over, and Potter was officially a Malfoy, he'd put a stop to such lazy behaviour. He also, unfortunately, looked tired – and Rita Skeeter or some other _Prophet_ parasite would likely write an article about his 'mistreatment' - but he claimed to have had a whole night's sleep and Lucius couldn't muster the energy to argue with him.

Draco, too, looked tired, and while he was both dressed appropriately and more forthcoming with a reason (he had spent half the night reading a book that Severus loaned him the day before) than Potter, he was also in a far stranger mood. If Lucius hadn't guessed his day was going to be a terrible one, he'd have been tipped off when Draco first opened his mouth.

"I think I might be pro-muggleborns, Father," he announced, without as much as a good morning. "Hunting them seems like an awful waste of time to me, and I'm not entirely sure it's fair." Lucius gaped at him, but Draco was busy staring at the palm of his hand. Eventually, he looked up at Potter, who looked just as stunned as Lucius. "Your mother was muggleborn, wasn't she, Potter?"

"Er... yeah," Potter said, and he actually looked at Lucius, as if he thought Lucius might be able to explain what in Merlin's name had happened. "She was."

"Pity she's dead. I'd have liked to ask her a few questions." Lucius couldn't decide whether to laugh or cry, and Potter seemed to be struggling with the same problem. "Urgh." Draco looked down at the pile of burned toast in front of him, aghast. "What _has_ Dobby done to breakfast? He ought to be punished for this, Father."

"Already taken care of," Lucius said faintly. He took a sip of his tea and set it down with a shaking hand.

"Good," Draco said, and picked a piece of toast that wasn't quite as blackened as the rest. "Father, can I come to the trial today?"

"Your mother is taking you and Hydrus to see your au-" Lucius froze. He wasn't certain what was wrong with Draco this morning – it was likely he was just tired – but Lucius wasn't about to send the supposedly pro-muggleborn Draco to Bellatrix. She'd destroy him. "Actually, it might be best if you do come with me, Draco."

"Really?" Draco asked, looking pleased.

"Yes, I think that'll be best," Lucius said, nodding to himself. "Tell your mother not to expect you. But, Draco?" Draco - who was halfway out of the dining room - looked up. "I'd like to speak with you about your new.. attitude."

"Really?" Draco asked.

"Yes, very much," Lucius said, determined to get to the bottom of this if it killed him. He could deal with a Gryffindor for a son – though that probably wouldn't be necessary – but he wouldn't tolerate a muggle-lover. Not in his house. The sooner Draco understood that, the better. "Go and find something appropriate to wear to the Ministry. And perhaps help Mr Potter when you're done." Lucius eyed Potter's untidy hair and crumpled pyjamas.

_He'll need all the help he can get._

"Fine," Draco said, irritably. "Let's go, Potter." Draco prodded Potter's arm – and Lucius blamed his wife for their son's relatively new, tactile nature - until the other boy moved and followed him out of the room.

"We'll leave in an hour!" Lucius called after them.

* * *

"If your father's willing to take you," Mrs Malfoy said to Draco, "then by all means go." Harry didn't think she looked awfully happy about it. "But be on- Never mind. I'll see you this afternoon." She stood suddenly and swept over to Harry. "I expect I'll see you later too, Mr Potter," she said with a sad smile. Harry forced himself to smile back, and was so busy trying to keep a polite expression on his face that he was completely caught by surprise when she stepped forward and hugged him. "Good luck," she whispered, and then let him go.

"Thanks," Harry said, and she smiled at him again. It was the warmest she'd been to him this whole time, and it was rather disconcerting. "I- er... bye."

"Mother gives the best hugs, don't you think?" Draco asked, hauling Harry out of the library.

"I guess," Harry said, but privately, he thought Mrs Malfoy's hugs had nothing on Padfoot's. "Hey, you know about the thing-"

"When's your birthday, Potter?" Draco asked, cutting him off.

"July. Wh-"

"I'm going to buy you a dictionary," Draco said decisively. "You are in dire need of a larger vocabulary."

"Very funny," Harry snapped, and only when Draco looked mildly insulted did Harry realise that he might not have been joking. "Look, you know the whole Kelpie thing?" Draco's eyes widened and he dragged Harry into Harry's room and shut the door.

"I thought we agreed not to talk about-"

"We did," Harry said, and hoped this wasn't going to backfire on him. "It's just... look, you did me a favour by warning me that it's not something that should be talked about, okay, and I'm trying to return the favour."

"I'm not stupid enough to do anything like that-"

"You already did," Harry said. Insults weren't sliding off him very well; while his disappointment and frustration at not being able to find anything about Peter was more or less cancelled out by his eager anticipation of Padfoot's trial, there was still the fact that he'd gone to bed at three and been up early. He was tired, but he bit his tongue because Draco already looked confused and offended, and snapping at him wouldn't help things. "You said you're pro-muggleborn-"

"I said I might be," Draco sniffed.

"Yeah, and that's great," Harry said, and meant it, "but I don't think your dad shares your views-"

"I can convince him," Draco said confidently. He eyed Harry. "I might need your help with that, actually. See, if I cut your hand-"

"Cut my- Never mind, it doesn't matter. Just take or leave my advice-"

"You haven't advised me in anything," Draco said snidely. "So-" Harry growled at him, and both of them were so taken aback that neither said a word. "Do you speak dragon now too?" Draco asked finally.

"I think it was probably wolf," Harry said, grimacing. Draco stared at him. "And would you just stop interrupting and listen? You can try to convince your dad if you want, but I don't think it's going to work. It's kind of like my Kelpie-talking. It's- the muggleborn thing... is probably something you should keep to yourself."

"Is it rare?" Draco's eyes gleamed.

"Very," Harry said wryly. "Look, your dad's going to try to talk you out of it – liking muggleborns, I mean – and he'll probably be angry if you don't change your mind. Your dad doesn't like muggleborns-"

"I know, but he'll listen-"

"No, he won't," Harry said. "I trusted you about the Kelpie, so trust me about this, all right?" Draco looked doubtful. "If you want to keep liking them, do it in secret, at least for now." Harry didn't understand all of the social implications of a pureblood expressing non-prejudiced views on people's bloodlines, but he was pretty sure he understood enough, and certainly more than Draco. "Ask your mum to tell you about the 'white sheep'," Harry said finally, remembering something that Padfoot had said to him once. "There were two – she'll know who they are."

"The sheep?"

"The _white_ sheep," Harry said.

"Okay," Draco said, and he sounded doubtful, but Harry thought he might just be convinced. _And if he's not... well, no one can say I didn't try._

* * *

_I don't think I can do this, _Marlene thought. It was eight-thirty, the trial was set to start at ten and she hadn't even worked up the courage to get out of bed yet. The entire Malfoy family and Harry had probably been up for hours, and she'd spent the morning hiding in her bedroom.

She felt sick. She felt scared and nervous and excited and confused and it wasn't a pleasant thing to wake up to. She just wanted to burrow under the covers and hide until Sirius was back in Azkaban, and if that made her a coward, then so what. Better a coward than a nervous wreck; at this rate, she'd be moving in with Alice and Frank with a severe case of mental trauma. Someone knocked on the door, startling her.

"Yes?" she asked, and wished a second later that she'd just pretended not to be awake. The door swung open to reveal Lucius, glowering at her from the doorway.

"I wondered if you were up," he said snidely.

"Well, I am," she said back, and her voice trembled a bit.

"That is debatable." His cold eyes drifted over her bed-hair and pyjamas and his lip curled in response. "I informed you last night that we'd be leaving at nine-"

"I heard you."

"Will you be-"

"Yes!" she snapped. "I'll be ready!"

"Go-" His eyes focused on something outside the room. "Mr Potter, _why_ are you still in your pyjamas?" Marlene didn't hear the response, but whatever it was made Lucius pinch the bridge of his nose and stalk away shouting, "Draco, I thought I told you to help!"

Marlene flicked her wand at the door, which closed, and sank back into her pillows. Attendance at the trial was compulsory for trainees – there'd probably be questions on it in their exams at the beginning of next month – but she was tempted just to miss it. She wasn't strong enough. She'd had the chance to kill him herself and hadn't been able to, because apparently she hadn't meant it. That part of her was still in there – somewhere in the tangled mess of all of her other parts – and she didn't think she'd be able to watch what happened. Whether Sirius was convicted or freed, some part of her would lose.

Her Sidekick rattled on her bedside table, and she was brave enough to reach for that, at least. She whispered the passphrase and it snapped open.

"McKinnon," Gawain said, and of course it was him; Gawain, rather like Dumbledore, had an uncanny ability to knew when he was needed.

"Morning," she said thickly.

"You sound about as well as I'd expected you to," he said, sounding almost sympathetic.

"Thanks," she said, but there wasn't enough... anything... in her tone to let the word sound as sarcastic as she'd wanted it to. It was pathetic, actually, but she couldn't bring herself to care. Part of her was impressed that she was still even able to talk. "Gawain, I don't think I can-"

"Oh, no, you don't," he said firmly. "Attendance is compulsory, McKinnon."

"I- I _can't-_" A panicky feeling was rising in Marlene's chest and her breathing was shaky.

"It'll be all right. Your friends will be there, and me and Moody, and Dumbledore and Harry's going to want you there-"

"And when I lose my head halfway through, all of them are going to see it," she whispered. "I don't think I can sit there and just... I won't be able to watch-"

"You can close your eyes," Gawain said, but he sounded worried. "McKinnon, you need to calm down."

"I c-can't," she said, and then she was crying, but as long as she didn't start sniffling, Gawain would never know. "Sir, please, don't make me go- I need to- I- I don't want- Please, please-"

"McKinnon, listen to me. It's going to be all right. You need to calm down – take a few deep breaths – and think about this. Sirius is a terrible man-"

"Y-yes, but-"

"None of that," Gawain said briskly. "He's done terrible things, and today, he'll finally be judged for them."

"What if they Kiss him?"

"They won't. They still need answers from him," Gawain said. "He'll be convicted, and then he'll spend a few days in questioning, and then he'll be back in Azkaban." He was so sure, so calm, that Marlene felt herself calming a little bit in response. "All right?"

"All right," she said.

"Good girl. Now, you don't sound like you're in any state to be guarding anything today, so I'll be by in about fifteen minutes to collect Potter and Mr Malfoy-"

"But, but I-"

"You've got just over an hour before the trial starts, and you're going to use that time to get yourself ready for what's going to happen, okay?"

"All right," she said shakily. Instructions were something she could work with. "So... so get ready to watch Sirius be convicted?"

"Exactly. No surprises, McKinnon – everyone knows what's coming – and so you get ready, and you let me know when you're at the Ministry. I'll be right beside you the whole time, and everything will work out just as I've said it will, all right?" Marlene clung to the certainty in his voice. It was nice to have certainty about something, when she'd been so confused lately. It was like finding a rock to sit on in the middle of a stormy ocean.

_Like Azkaban_? Her mind supplied, rather unhelpfully, and Marlene sniffed.

It was the last things she felt like doing, but she had instructions to follow so she hauled herself out of bed and changed into a pair of clean robes. Red ones. Maybe House pride would give her courage. She ran a brush through her hair and stared at herself in the mirror until her she was convinced that she didn't look like she was about to crumble into a thousand pieces.

She still felt like it, and it wasn't as easy to push all of her problems down as it had been six months ago, but hopefully, today was the last day she'd need her mask. She had to believe that after today, everything would be all right, because if it wasn't, then she _would_ break. She squared her shoulders so she looked brave, even if she didn't feel it, and felt herself slip into her Auror-trainee role, rather than her Marlene role. Trainee-Marlene was stronger.

"Okay," she said, snapping her Sidekick shut. "Okay, I'll be ready."

She thought she knew how to get ready, too; she was stronger when she knew how she felt about Sirius, and her strongest emotion toward him was also the one that could get her through today. She needed to remind herself how much she hated him, and she needed to do it without using his treatment of her as an excuse. The moment she let _her_ feelings get involved, things got messy.

Luckily, even when she removed herself from the picture, she still had three very good reasons to hate Sirius, and better yet, she could visit all three of them within her hour. She packed her suitcase with a wave of her wand, cast a Shrinking Charm on it, and stuffed it into her pocket.

Then she took a deep breath and strode out of the room, in search of her first reason. He was three bedrooms away, arguing with a frustrated Lucius.

"I don't understand what's wrong with green," she heard as she approached the room.

"Black's better," Harry said, and his eyes met Marlene's the moment she walked into his room. He was seated on his unmade bed, holding a pair of dress robes, while Lucius brandished another. "Morning," he said, and she thought he sounded nervous. She also thought he looked like he hadn't slept, and felt her heart break a little, and her hatred flare; Harry'd been losing sleep over Sirius.

"Mr Potter, Sirius Black is-"

"My godfather," Harry said, "and my legal guardian." He smiled politely at Lucius, and oddly, it didn't make Marlene think of James or Lily or even Sirius. No, that smile was entirely Lupin. "And since I can't imagine he'd have a problem with me wearing black to his trial, I can't understand why you think there's anything wrong with it either. Nice robes," he added, with a grin at Marlene that was far more Sirius-ish. Lucius groaned, and Marlene managed to smile. "Sir, do you think I could wear re-" Lucius tossed the black robes at Harry and stood.

"We're running late," he said, and gestured for Marlene to follow him out. "Put those on and I'll be back in five minutes to help you with your hair." Harry frowned and reached up to pat his messy hair, as if he couldn't work out what was wrong with it.

"I see you're up," Lucius drawled, shutting Harry's bedroom door.

"I am," she said, refusing to let him make her angry; she needed her anger for Sirius. "I'm also leaving. Auror Robards is coming to escort you and Harry to the trial."

"And where might you be going?"

"I have instructions," she said, with a twisted smile.

"And they are...?"

"None of your concern, I assure you," she said politely.

* * *

"Oh dear," Remus moaned, and attempted to hide himself behind Matt. Unfortunately, Matt was a few inches too short, and certainly did _not_ want to get in the middle of this confrontation. Besides, as much as Remus was like an uncle, or an older brother to him, Remus had been absolutely ridiculous about this whole situation, and Matt, frankly, thought he thoroughly deserved whatever was about to happen.

"Here," he said, grabbing Remus' shoulders, "have him."

"Traitor," Remus hissed, as Matt shoved him toward Tock, or Tonks, or whatever her name was.

"It had to happen eventually," Matt hissed back, and then moved out of the way. What's-her-name had bright red hair, and eyes that were more yellow than brown. She looked _mad _– she had her wand out and everything - and more than a little scary.

"Hi, Dora," Remus said, and Matt could smell his guilt from a few yards away. Dora – Matt decided it was safest to call her whatever Remus did – threw her arms around him, and Matt choked back a laugh. He'd expected her to hex Remus, not hug him.

"You're all right," she said, while Remus awkwardly patted her back. Matt gave up on trying to keep a straight face and laughed at them. Remus held up a hand and made a rather rude gesture in Matt's direction but Matt just smirked. Dora let Remus go, and stared up at him for a moment, and then – with the only warning coming in the form of her hair brightening – punched him.

"Uh oh," Matt said, and took a step forward, thinking that maybe he should intervene; Remus lifted a hand to his jaw, and Dora had assumed the position of scorned women everywhere. Her hands were on her hips (one of them still holding her wand, one of them still curled in a fist), and her scowl was a little frightening.

"I deserved that," Remus said weakly, and Dora didn't look quite as violent anymore, so Matt waited.

"Oh, do you think so?" she demanded. "How hard is it to pick up a quill and write a letter?! I didn't want a recount of your day-"

"I didn't know what to write," Remus said, in that same, rather sheepish voice.

"_Dora, I'm alive_ might have been a bloody good way to start!" Remus seemed to shrink, though Matt thought that had more to do with the fact that, as she shouted, Dora was actually growing.

_What the-_

"Best to leave them to it, lad," a gruff voice said, and Matt spun to see the Auror who'd sat with him in St Mungo's until Remus got there. His blue eye was fixed on Remus and Dora, but his dark one was watching Matt.

"It's you," Matt said, grinning. "I don't remember your name, but I remember your... er..."

"Constant vigilance!" Matt remembered him saying that a few times last time they'd seen each other. "Alastor Moody, Rosier."

"Moody," Matt said, nodding. He checked his watch. "Do you think we should-"

"She's been planning this for three days and she'll probably kill you if you interrupt," Moody said, in a rather grim voice.

"Right," Matt said, and smirked.

"-a holiday you were on, Remus-" Dora's face was almost as red as her hair, and Matt couldn't help but be impressed. Moody looked morbidly fascinated too. "-and the last time I saw you, you weren't exactly stable, so can you really blame me for worrying?!"

"I don't need you to worry about-"

"If you finish that sentence, I swear to Godric I'll-"

"Come on." Moody waved a scarred hand and gestured for Matt to follow him. "If we stand here much longer, I'm going to start saying her lines with her." Matt chuckled and glanced at them again. Remus looked acutely embarrassed and Dora's expression was a strange mix of confusion and frustration.

"Are you sure they should be left alone?"

"No," Moody said. "But I've made it this long by picking my battles. If you're brave enough to get between that, go ahead." Matt stared at them for a moment longer and then shook his head and followed Moody into the already crowded courtroom.

* * *

Marlene strode into the cemetery feeling near-furious. It was a little scary, actually; she'd always hated Sirius, but she'd never actively tried to force that sort of emotion. Now that she was... well, the results were a little overwhelming. She'd already blown up a muggle streetlamp with a burst of – embarrassing – accidental magic. She hadn't lost control like that since she was twelve. She felt like her every nerve was on end, and hatred simmered away in her chest, and it scared her, it did, but it was also nice to have something there other than emptiness or confusion.

She travelled the familiar path - between the headstones and monuments - to Lily and James. She'd already been to the statue, and this would be her last stop before the Ministry, because the trial had started ten minutes ago, and her Sidekick had been burning for the last twenty, but she'd ignored it so far.

She was a little surprised to see that there was someone already there, standing in front of the graves in the morning sun, hands shoved deep into the pockets of a shabby coat.

For a moment, she thought it was Lupin – he had the same fair hair, at least – but she quickly discarded that idea. This man's hair was too neat, and he himself was several inches too short. And, while he wasn't fat by any means, he was seemed sturdier than Lupin.

"Hello?" she said tentatively, and he jumped and glanced at her over his shoulder. She didn't recognise his face, but she felt like she should have.

"H-hello," he said. "Come to see them too, I suppose?"

"Yes, I suppose," she replied, going to stand beside him. He still wouldn't look at her, and his eyes were darting around as if he was trying to plan some sort of escape. Pale eyes flicked to her face and then away again just as quickly, and the man's tongue darted out to wet his lips. "Are you going to the trial?" she asked, staring at the beautiful, lily-like flowers that grew over the grave. She didn't know who'd planted them, but she was used to seeing the flowers there now.

"N-no. B-best to stay away, I think." He wrung his hands and finally, Marlene was able to place him.

"_Pettigrew_?" she gasped.

"H-how do you know-"

"It's me," she said. "Marlene."

"_McKinnon?_!" They stared at each other in stunned disbelief. "But- but the Death Eaters got you," he said timidly.

"Almost," she said. "I thought Sirius-"

"Almost," he repeated, looking terrified. It took Marlene a moment to understand the implications; if Pettigrew was alive, then Sirius was innocent of at least one of the crimes he'd been convicted of. Well, that or she'd gone mad and was hallucinating. She wasn't sure which she'd prefer. What if Sirius was telling the truth? What if he was innocent - of everything?

_No_, she told herself. _No, there's got to be a logical explanation_... She didn't want to think about what it would mean if she'd been wrong.

"How did you escape - they found a finger-"

"It wasn't mine," Pettigrew said, holding both hands out to her. His fingers were shaking, but all ten of them were there.

"Everyone thinks you're dead," she said quietly. _Everyone except Sirius, that is._

"That's the idea," he said nervously, and she frowned. "N-not everyone, though; I told- a few people know the truth."

"Who?"

"D-Dumbledore," he muttered. "And m-my mother. They promised not to tell anyone- you have to promise me too, now that you know!"

"Of course," Marlene said at once. "Does Lupin know?"

"R-Remus?" Pettigrew hesitated and then shook his head. "I couldn't risk- what if he and Sirius... Always close, those two... I couldn't be sure..." Pettigrew's blue eyes widened. "You're not in league with them, are you? Did Sirius send you to find-"

"Me in league with Sirius?" Marlene asked humourlessly. "I tried to kill him a few weeks ago - I think I might dislike him more than you do."

"Oh, thank Merlin," he said, looking relieved. "You understand! Lately it's seemed like everyone's out to get me... It's like nowhere's safe anymore, and everything's so confusing... I mean, Sirius was my friend, and I don't want him to go to Azkaban, but he's done such terrible, terrible things-"

"It'll be over by tonight," Marlene said, borrowing Gawain's confidence. "He'll be locked away-"

"I just want to feel safe again," Pettigrew said, and Marlene hugged him without even having to think about it. Finally someone understood what it was like, how confusing everything was... she thought Pettigrew might be just as damaged as she was, and drew comfort from that. Sirius had hurt them both. "I just want to know that Sirius isn't going to come after me again-"

"Come after you?" Marlene asked, staring. The feeling of finding someone that understood vanished; the official version of events was that Pettigrew had gone after Sirius to avenge Lily and James... the only person who'd ever said it the same way that Pettigrew was saying it now was Sirius himself. Marlene suddenly felt very cold inside, and her anger shrivelled and was replaced by a horrible, sick feeling.

"That day- the day after..." Pettigrew gestured to the graves in front of them. "He came to find me... he was going to kill us all; first Lily and James and Harry, and then me and Remus, and if he'd known you were still alive... He wanted us all dead!"

Marlene was silent. She was a little confused; Lupin had told her that Sirius had been at his cottage, so why, if what Pettigrew said was true, hadn't Sirius tried to kill Lupin? It had been a full moon, so a silver rope spell would have done the trick and Sirius wouldn't even have needed to get close. He'd been right there. And, if she ignored that, there was also the fact that while Pettigrew was a competent wizard, he wasn't as talented as Sirius. If Sirius had wanted him dead, then Pettigrew _would_ be dead... _I wanted Sirius dead and couldn't kill him_, she thought.

_Yes, _another voice agreed, the one that had wanted her to trust Sirius this whole time. _But if Sirius was capable of letting Lily and James die, he wouldn't have cared about Pettigrew. _Usually she ignored the voice, but this time, it was making sense.

"Then how did you survive?" she asked aloud. Pettigrew looked a little offended.

"I got a Shield Charm up in time - my wand was destroyed, but somehow the magic held out - it stopped him k-killing me. I was blasted away and when I came to, Sirius was laughing like a m-mad thing-" Pettigrew quivered. "-and the Hit Wizards and Aurors had come to take him away. I ran straight to Dumbledore to tell him what had happened, and that I was going into hiding."

"You went to Dumbledore while Sirius was being arrested?" she asked, feeling sick. She thought she might actually throw up; Dumbledore had been with _her_ in St Mungo's when Sirius had been arrested, because a grimly triumphant Mad-Eye had burst in and startled Marlene into spilling her tea. Pettigrew hadn't been there, and if he was lying about that, then-

_Then I've been trying to kill an innocent man._

"Are you all right?" Pettigrew asked. "You sme- look like you're going to be sick." Marlene sank to the ground, and Pettigrew crouched down beside her, looking concerned.

"Can you conjure me a glass of water?" she asked.

"I don't have a wand," he said. "Thanks to Sirius, I can't exactly walk into Ollivanders these days. There's a supermarket in the village, so I could-"

"No, it's fine," she said, not about to give him any excuse to get out of her sight. She pulled out her own wand, and he didn't seem worried about that. He seemed to trust her, and instead of finding that amusing, she felt even worse, because she'd trust her if she was in Pettigrew's place. She'd tried to kill an innocent man.

_Oh, Godric, what if I'd actually managed it?_ She really did throw up then, and Pettigrew made a revolted noise and jumped back, but he didn't try to leave. It was clever of him, not giving her a reason to need to chase him. Running away would be suspicious, and Pettigrew was obviously very good at not drawing attention to himself. Marlene rinsed her mouth and vanished the mess with a flick of her wand, and then wondered why in Merlin's name she hadn't arrested Pettigrew yet.

"Should you really be out?" Pettigrew asked, sidling closer again.

"Probably not," she said, hugging her stomach. She felt absolutely revolting. "Would you mind helping me up? I don't think my legs will hold me."

She really didn't. And Pettigrew, the admittedly helpful, but still lying, traitorous, murderous, _monster_ that he was, bent, put an arm around her waist – she was almost sick again at the thought of touching him – and draped her other arm over his shoulders and stood.

It was too easy; Marlene didn't attempt to help him at all, and she was thin but she was still a tall woman, so while he concentrated on lifting her, she pointed her wand at his neck – without him even noticing – and thought, _Dormio._

Peter Pettigrew went out like a light, and Marlene fell down beside him as her fragile sanity shattered into several thousand sharp pieces.

* * *

Sirius had woken three times a day to eat and use the bathroom, but otherwise, he'd spent every day except two – because it had taken him two horrible days to rebuild Azkaban - sitting in his old cell. Padfoot had been his main source of company, though he'd had brief visits from Harry, James, Remus, Lily and even Peter and Marlene and Reg in his memories.

In a sort of twisted way, it had been like a holiday. He'd had no responsibilities, and no worries – he missed Harry, but knew Marlene would keep him safe – and had spent over a week doing nothing but reliving the best moments of his life and going over what he was going to say in his trial.

He'd picked his words carefully – he knew better than anyone how good the Wizengamot was at picking things apart – and he'd considered the sorts of questions he was going to be asked and the answers he'd give. He was prepared, and it was a nice feeling.

_And, this time tomorrow, I'll be home_, he thought, and Padfoot glowed. Maintaining Padfoot was ridiculously easy now – almost second nature – because he'd had a lot of practice lately and because anything was easier than that awful night two weeks ago.

He felt a phantom hand on his shoulder, and saw a Dementor looming over him, held at bay by his Patronus. Since Padfoot was at near-full strength and the Dementors had been keeping their distance lately, he thought it was safe to assume it had been sent. Grinning, Sirius sent Padfoot charging at it, and let himself fall back into his body.

He was still grinning when he opened his eyes, and he saw a Dementor drift – very quickly – out of the cell, as if something was after it. Another floated in, and Sirius held Padfoot ready, but all it did was drop a set of clean robes on the floor and glide out again. Sirius took the hint and showered and changed and then knocked on the door. It opened and four Dementors hovered there, expectantly. Two reached for him.

"Nice try," he said, feeding Padfoot a memory of the look on Malfoy's face when Narcissa had suggested Marlene stay with them. Patronuses came so easily to Sirius now that he was fuelling them with memories that, a year ago, wouldn't even have given him a shield. He still needed to be happy to cast one, but maintenance was simple. The Dementors floated back, and exchanged looks – well, not looks, but Sirius didn't have a better word for it – and waited. "I can walk."

And so he did; two Dementors floated about a yard in front of him, and two were a few yards behind him. If Sirius had wanted to, he could have run away. He really, really didn't want to, though. He was getting his trial.

There was an audible gasp in the room when he walked in, unrestrained, and Sirius' nose was bombarded with scents of fear, hatred and every now and then, fascination. He sneezed and decided to breathe through his mouth before he ended up with a headache due to sensory overload. Several cameras clicked and flashed from the stands.

"What-" Fudge began, but Sirius ignored him and went and sat down in the chair. He didn't, however, put his arms down, knowing that that activated the chains. The room went completely silent, and Sirius had a look around. There were hundreds of people crammed into the room, and the majority, oddly, were wearing very brightly coloured robes. Blue – sky blue, not navy – and purple and a mustardy yellow were the most popular, and he realised why when he spied Harry and Remus, who were wearing black robes that made them stand out.

_Black for black,_ he thought, chuckling, and winked at Harry, who beamed. Remus' mouth twitched, but he was obviously being careful; Harry was between Malfoy and one of the Malfoy boys, who had Snape – wearing green robes instead of his usual black - on his other side, and then it was McGonagall and Hagrid. Behind them was Remus' friend Matt – who'd opted for navy blue - Remus, Dora, Mad-Eye and several of the Auror trainees Sirius had met during his imprisonment. Yes, Remus would have to be careful; his robes were probably risky enough.

"Hands down, Black," Fudge snapped, and his voice echoed.

"I like to gesture when I talk," Sirius said, grinning at Fudge. "I rather think I'll need my hands." Scrimgeour strode over and, with a warning look at Sirius, pressed his hands into the chair. They were promptly chained and Sirius sighed. Scrimgeour went to sit down in a bench at the front. The Aurors he was with were all wearing colourful robes, but Scrimgeour's were grey. Sirius wondered if it meant anything, or if it was simply because Scrimgeour didn't own bright robes.

"Criminal trial of the tenth of May-" Fudge started to speak and Sirius was paying full attention now too, though he did notice as Umbridge began to take notes with a bright purple quill. "-for offences committed during and immediately following the War against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and again in February of nineteen-eighty nine until the present day, by Sirius Orion Black-" Fudge's expression soured. "-resident of a currently unknown location."

"Interrogators," Fudge continued, "Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Minister for Magic; Amelia Susan Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. Court Scribe, Dolores Jane Umbridge."

"Witnesses for the offence: Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Victoria Marie Knight, Christopher Stanley Clearwater and John Andrew Dawlish." Sirius was a little surprised that Marlene hadn't been listed, and had a quick look around. _Just because we're enemies now_, he told himself, _and it's good to know where your enemies are._

_Liar, _said a voice that sounded a bit like his own.

_Shut _up, he grumbled, and glanced around again, but couldn't spot her. He could, however, see Robards, by the door, clutching something small and golden – maybe a galleon? – but Marlene wasn't with him, and he was too far away for Sirius to properly make out his expression. Fudge cleared his throat, apparently noticing Sirius' distraction. "Witnesses for the defence: Sirius Orion Black... that's all, I presume?"

"Y-" Sirius' answer, however, was cut off by another voice, that rang throughout the courtroom.

"No, actually." People gasped and one elderly witch in the front row squeaked and fainted. Almost simultaneously, every head in the courtroom turned to the speaker, who stood, looking nervous but determined. He smoothed his black robes and lifted his chin. "Second witness for the defence: Remus John Lupin."


	55. The Witnesses

"I'm sorry," Remus said quietly, as whispers broke out. He wasn't sure who he was talking to.

He could have been addressing the furious-looking Malfoy, for wasting both of their time for all those months.

He could have been addressing the impassive Snape, who'd suspected Remus was helping Sirius from the beginning. That wasn't true, but Snape had been told off more times than Remus could count for not trusting him, when he'd been right for a while now.

He could have been addressing McGonagall, or Hagrid or Mad-Eye, who'd all looked out for him over the years, and known him for a long time. Now they knew he'd been lying to them, and he knew it must be hurting them, because now they thought they'd failed with him too.

He could have been addressing Matt, who looked exasperated and more than a little worried. Remus had promised him he'd keep his head down during the trial and not do anything stupid. _Oops._

He could have been directing it at Dora, whose hair was white with shock, and looked absolutely shattered. Something twinged inside him and he almost put a comforting hand on her shoulder but he didn't think she'd take kindly to that.

He could also have been directing it at Harry, because if this went sour, it'd be him _and_ Sirius in Azkaban, and Harry'd be alone again.

"Funny, Lupin," Sirius said, and everyone fell silent. "All these years later and you've still got your sense of humour." Remus rolled his eyes; Sirius was trying to give him a chance to say it had all been a poor-taste joke. He appreciated the gesture, but he'd made his decision. "I suppose that's something-"

Remus's hand brushed Harry's hair on the way out of the stands. A camera flashed behind him. Scrimgeour and the other Aurors followed his progress with their wands.

Remus stopped a few yards from Sirius – he didn't want anyone to panic and Stun him – and then said, "I left you to fend for yourself last time and I'm not going to make that mistake again."

He looked at Dumbledore as he said it, and thought his previous apology might have been directed at his old Headmaster too.

* * *

"Arrest him-" Babble broke out in the stands over the top of Fudge's voice. Remus' eye widened, and a tear trickled down Dumbldore's cheek. Someone protested from behind him. "-for accessory to Sirius Black's numerous crimes-"

"No," Sirius said, as the eagle Patronuse that had been guarding the Dementors faded and let them start toward Remus. He backed his voice up with a burst of happy memories to fuel his Patronus, and was gratified when the Dementors stopped.

"I am the Minister for Magic!" Fudge bellowed. "You answer to me, not to Black! Arrest the traitor-"

"I said no!" Sirius snapped. "Remus's fate is linked to mine now. He's not a traitor unless I'm proven guilty." There was a long pause, during which Fudge's face grew slowly redder, Umbridge scribbled away, Remus and Dumbledore stared at each other – it was impossible to tell who looked sadder – and Sirius' heart thudded in his chest.

"Get Mr Lupin a chair," Amelia called finally, giving Remus a steely look. Her command earned her blank looks from the majority of the Aurors, but Shacklebolt stood, muttered a complex charm, and a chair identical to Sirius' appeared. Remus sat, looking dignified and gave the chains a rather unimpressed glance. Amelia's Patronus blocked the Dementors off again, and Sirius glanced in Harry's direction to make sure he hadn't been affected.

"How long?" Dumbledore asked gravely, before Fudge could start on the charges. Remus fidgeted beside Sirius.

"August," Remus mumbled.

"Speak up!" Amelia said.

"August," Remus said, a defiantly. In the stands, Dora buried her face in her hands, her hair dark green. Dumbledore sighed and closed his eyes briefly.

"And how-"

"Objection," Sirius said. "Remus' fate is linked to mine, not mine to his, and so I rather think that this whole line of questioning is counter-productive." A murmur ran through the Wizengamot, but Sirius knew his point was too valid for them to ignore.

"The charges, then-" Fudge gave Sirius a nasty smile and accepted a rather long piece of parchment from Rattler. "-against the accused are as follows: That he did knowingly, deliberately and in full awareness of the illegality of his actions, having trained as an Auror, personally contribute to the war's magical and non-magical casualties – more specifically the deaths Peter Pettigrew and thirteen muggles.

"The accused did also partake in the use of dark magic like the Unforgivable curses during his time as a Death Eater, and passed confidential information to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named that resulted in deaths – more specifically, the deaths of the Potters, Boneses, McKinnons, Meadoweses and also of individuals including Caradoc Dearborn, Benjy Fenwick and Gideon and Fabian Prewett."

Fudge paused for breath then, and looked at Sirius, who met his gaze calmly and waited for him to continue. Remus quirked an eyebrow in Sirius' direction, and Sirius let one corner of his mouth twitch upward to show that yes, he was all right.

"Mr Black is also accused of escaping the prison fortress, Azkaban-"

"Objection," Sirius said, with a lazy grin.

"I beg your pardon?" Fudge demanded. "As you are sitting here before us, Black, it is quite obvious that you did, in fact escape-" Sirius knew better than to agree with them; he'd get halfway through yes, and then they'd pounce on that answer and refuse to let him say anything more on the matter. It was best to put them on the defensive.

"A criminal accusation is, by definition," Sirius said, "something that goes against wizarding law."

"Yes, and-"

"And, since the Ministry went against procedure after my arrest and denied me a trial-"

"What's your point, Black-"

"My point, Minister," Sirius said, "is that I was never officially sentenced."

"It _was _official-"

"So you have a document that specifically outlines the location and duration of my imprisonment?" Out of the corner of his eye, Sirius could see Remus struggling to keep a straight face. "Don't you dare laugh," Sirius hissed, because if Remus laughed, then it was likely Sirius would too, and he was already having enough trouble getting them to take him... seriously.

_Oh, damn it, _Sirius thought, choking on a snigger. Remus coughed. _Bloody _damn_ it!_

"You were sentenced to Azkaban, for life-"

"I asked if you had the document," Sirius said, fighting desperately not to let his amusement show.

"Well, no, we don't, but-"

"Exactly. So I'm afraid, Minister, that that accusation is empty. I didn't break any laws by leaving a place I had no legal obligation to stay in." Fudge blinked and Umbridge looked up from her frenzied writing. Sirius grinned at them. Another murmur went through the Wizengamot. "Continue with the charges, Minister, but do make sure they apply."

"I- yes," Fudge said, flustered. He cleared his throat. "You- that is, the accused, is also charged with two counts of kidnapping of the boy Harry Potter, from his relatives' home, and later from St Mungo's-"

"Actually, St Mungo's was me," Remus said helpfully. Dumbledore put his head in his hands, and Fudge gaped at them.

"Continue, Minister," Sirius drawled, before they could try to arrest Remus again.

"One kidnapping, then," Fudge stammered, "and also physical abuse against Harry Potter, who received a dislocated shoulder, extensive bruising, and spinal damage at the hands of the accused." That wiped all traces of amusement off of Sirius' face, and he snarled quietly. "The accused is also charged with breaking and entering and the evasion of justice in early September, and with the possession of a dark artefact on the night of his arrest last month." Sirius' breath caught, and he met Remus' eyes for a moment. Worry flowed between them, and Sirius prayed Keira had kept it safe. "You are Sirius Orion Black?"

"What are you implying about Ministry security, Minister?" Sirius asked, with a sly smile. He let Fudge gape at him for a moment and then said, "Of course I'm Sirius Orion Black." _Idiot._

"And you received an extensive knowledge of wizarding law during your Auror training, did you not?"

"Yes," Sirius said. He had so many witty responses he could come back with instead, but he thought Fudge deserved a break; the poor man – Sirius didn't actually feel that sorry for him – was still red faced with embarrassment.

"And yet you still committed numerous crimes-"

"No," Sirius said.

Amelia and Dumbledore exchanged irritated looks and then Fudge said, "The Chair recognises its first witness, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore."

Dumbledore stood, exited the Wizengamot stand and conjured himself a chair facing Fudge, though his eyes were fixed on Remus and Sirius. He looked almost apologetic, but Sirius knew Dumbledore; once he was convinced something was necessary, very little would shake him.

Dumbledore gave his account of the war, and some things had members of the public gasping, but Sirius knew just how much he was omitting. Dumbledore never once mentioned the words 'Order' or 'secret organisation', and never named any members that hadn't died – with the exception of himself, Sirius, Remus and Peter. He'd obviously thought very carefully about what to say. He also didn't paint Sirius as evil, which was a pleasant surprise; it was a very fair account of the way things had happened, to Dumbledore's knowledge, anyway.

Fudge and Amelia asked a few questions afterward, mostly about Sirius' supposed wrongdoings, and then Amelia nodded and instructed the next witness to come forward.

"Actually, I have a few questions," Sirius said. Fudge rolled his eyes, but no one contested Sirius' right. Dumbledore gestured for him to continue. "Would you consider yourself to be a reasonably perceptive man?" Dumbledore's eyes narrowed and Sirius knew he knew exactly where Sirius was trying to take this.

"No more than the average man, I'm sure," Dumbledore said politely.

"Right," Sirius said. "But you went into a reasonable amount of detail in your version of events..."

"I did, yes."

"And your version of events was constructed from a number of conclusions you drew from your perceptions of things going on at the time, yes?"

"Yes."

"So either you've got poor perception, in which case your account is perhaps not as reliable as you'd hoped, or you are actually are reasonably perceptive." Sirius said. "So which is it?" Dumbledore made a quiet nose of frustration, because he knew as well as Sirius that he was cornered.

"I suppose I'm reasonably perceptive," Dumbledore sighed.

"You taught Voldemort-" For a moment, the courtroom sounded like a muggle zoo - people squawked, yelped, growled, squeaked and gulped – and then things quietened again. "-yes?"

"I did, yes."

"Tell me, Headmaster, did he ever make you uneasy? Did you ever suspect that he might actually be evil?"

"I... worried," Dumbledore admitted.

"And he's an evil git," Sirius said, making Remus laugh, "but he was an admittedly talented wizard, wasn't he? A master Legillimens, and quite good at Occlumency-"

"Other than bragging about your master, Black," Fudge said, "where is this-"

"I'll get there," Sirius said shortly, and turned back to Dumbledore. "So you'd say he was pretty good at hiding things?"

"Yes," Dumbledore said.

"And yet you worried," Sirius said. His hands twitched; he wanted to wave them around to make his point, but they remained firmly chained to the chair. "Silly question, you've already said you did." Dumbledore inclined his head, but he looked annoyed. "Did you worry about me, sir? Honestly." Dumbledore said something that even Sirius, with his excellent hearing, missed. "Pardon?"

"No. I- No," Dumbledore admitted.

"So, even with all of those perceptive skills - ones that weren't fooled by the evil git himself - you never suspected me?"

"No," Dumbledore said clearly. There was no twinkle in his blue eyes.

"Did it ever occur to you that that might be because there was nothing to suspect me of?" Sirius asked, tapping his fingers against the arm of his chair. Dumbledore's silence was confirmation enough. "One last thing," Sirius said, and Dumbledore nodded warily. "I know we talked about it, and that it was assumed, but were you ever actually told that I was the Secret Keeper? Was there ever any _proof?_"

"No," Dumbledore said, "to both, but-"

"Thank you. That's all I wanted to ask," Sirius said.

Dumbledore rejoined the Wizengamot members and Knight was brought forward and questioned about the day Sirius had been arrested. Again, it was a reasonably fair account, if a little gory. Hit Wizards weren't exactly renowned for their censorship; even the smart ones tended to speak and act first, and think later. Rattler was probably the most refined one Sirius had ever met, and he'd been out of the job for two years, according to Remus. He gave Knight an awkward smile; last time they'd met, she'd been holding him to a Portkey.

"You were the first person to Apparate in after the explosion?" Sirius asked.

"Yeah," she said proudly. "And sweet Slytherin, you made a mess-"

"_I_ did?"

"Yeah, there was-"

"You can prove that I was the one that cast the charm?" Knight snorted and pushed her short hair out of her face.

"Anyone with an ounce of common sense could tell it was you," she said, rolling her eyes. "You were the only one still alive."

"And you can prove that?"

"I saw you kneeling there-"

"Did you check my wand?" Sirius asked, cutting her off. Knight had been trained to be impulsive, but she wasn't an idiot; she knew how to avoid questions. "Did you check to see what charm it had last performed?"

"Well-"

"A yes or no answer will be fine," Sirius said. Knight huffed and crossed her arms.

"No."

"So you don't actually have any proof that it was me?"

"No," she said, pursing her lips.

"Did I seem aware that you'd arrived?" She looked surprised at the sudden change of topic, and then nodded.

"Yes, you looked at me and laughed and said it wasn't what it looked like."

"So you'd say I knew I was going to be arrested?"

"Yeah."

"Did I try to escape?"

"No. You said we had the wrong man, but you came quietly."

"And did I have my wand?" Knight squinted for a moment, obviously trying to remember.

"Until I pulled it out of your hand, yes," she said.

"Interesting," Sirius said, grinning at Remus. "So, you're saying I had my wand... the same wand, if your version of events is to be believed, that I'd just used to cause mass destruction to a muggle street and its occupants, and that I was also aware that you'd arrived and that it meant I'd be arrested... is that correct?"

"Yes," Knight said hesitantly.

"So why didn't I fight? If I'm the violent mass-murderer everyone's made me out to be, then why did I let you pull my wand out of my hand – your words, not mine." He shrugged, and nodded, inviting her to answer.

"We had you cornered. You knew there was no way out-"

"But so, supposedly, had Peter, just moments before-"

"There was more than one-"

"There were also those thirteen muggles," Sirius said. "If they were close enough to have been caught up in the explosion, then arguably they'd 'cornered' me too. "

"We were trained professionals-"

"So was I," Sirius said. "But I – as you've said – came quietly."

"If I might interrupt, Mr Black," Amelia said, and Sirius turned his attention to her, "might I ask why you allowed yourself to be arrested?"

_Because I was tired, _Sirius thought. _I'd been outsmarted by stupid bloody Peter, and Lily and James were dead, and Harry was off to Petunia's, and Remus hated me... _Amelia wasn't really supposed to ask him questions until he was acting as a witness, but everything about this had been unorthodox and answering was a good way to metaphorically slap the Ministry, so he didn't object.

"I assumed I was being taken off to the holding cells to await my trial. There was no point in fighting; I was – and still am – an innocent man, so I had nothing to fear from a trial." He barked a humourless laugh. "Joke was on me, wasn't it?"

"Did you have anything else to ask the witness?"

"No," Sirius said. "I think I've made my point."

Clearwater – the blond guard who'd been on duty the night Sirius escaped Azkaban – was up next. He wove a rather biased tale about Sirius, and the dark magic marks he'd made on his walls to protect him from Dementors. The only crime his testimony covered was his apparent dark magic use, but he made Sirius sound like a complete git. Sirius sighed, supposing that he'd been spoiled with Dumbledore and Knight.

"Those 'evil' marks... what did they look like?"

"Lines," Clearwater said, sticking his nose in the air. "It was probably some complex Arithmancy spell-"

"Did you take Arithmancy in school?"

"I did, yes. Got a N.E.W.T. in it." Sirius wondered, absently, what a man who was capable of high level Arithmancy was doing with a job in Azkaban.

"Oh," Sirius said. "I never did it myself. So tell me: is two-thousand, six-hundred and fifty-two a powerful magical number?"

"No, but what's that-"

"That's the number of lines there were on my wall," Sirius said quietly, and Remus made a small noise in the back of his throat; Sirius hadn't mentioned the lines before.

"What were the marks, then?" Fudge asked. Sirius hesitated.

"The number of days since James and Lily's deaths," he said finally. The stands were silent again.

"Pads..." Remus murmured, looking unhappy. Sirius cleared his throat and looked everywhere but Remus and Harry and fixed his gaze on Clearwater.

"So," Sirius said loudly, "I've discounted your evil carvings on the wall theory, but no doubt you still think dark magic was involved... Could you describe, please, what happened when a Dementor approached me?"

"You'd hide at the back of your cell." Several people tittered at that, and Clearwater smirked.

"And I'd faint, right?"

"Right," Clearwater said reluctantly.

"So you'd say I was actually affected by them?" Clearwater made an annoyed noise and folded his arms. "Well?"

"Yes." Sirius arched an eyebrow at the man's petulant tone but didn't comment on that.

"Doesn't that contradict your earlier statement about me protecting myself?" Clearwater gave him a stony look. "One last question... When the Dementors were near me, and I'd fall unconscious, what would I wake up saying?" Clearwater fiddled with a button on the pocket of his robes and cleared his throat. Then he glanced at Amelia, Fudge, and Dumbledore, as if to ask if he really had to answer. "Answer the question!" Sirius snapped.

"That you were innocent," Clearwater said, not meeting Sirius' gaze, or those of the members of the Wizengamot. He scratched the back of his neck and practically sprinted back to his seat when Fudge announced the questioning was over.

"The Chair recognises Auror John Andrew Dawlish," Fudge said.

* * *

Dawlish was brought forward and talked about how Padfoot had supposedly abused Harry; he'd apparently spoken to the Healers at St Mungo's and filed the official report, and he'd also witnessed their interactions during their time in the cell. He covered Harry's injuries in depth, and spoke a lot about the days immediately following the Dementor attack – where Harry and Padfoot had been quite distant. He turned Harry into a victim, which Harry didn't like at _all _, because he'd known what was at stake when he and Padfoot faced the Inferi, and because their distance had been Harry's fault, not Padfoot's. Dawlish made Padfoot out to be a monster.

Harry's eyes burned holes into the back of Dawlish's head the entire time – and then Padfoot stood and Harry grinned; Padfoot was going to tear the Auror to shreds. He was right; Padfoot started simply, asking whether Dawlish had proof that it had been him who attacked Harry, and had Harry ever said anything to suggest that he was abused, or acted as if he was afraid? Dawlish was forced to say no to all of those questions.

Then, for the first time in nearly an hour, Padfoot hesitated when the topic of their time in the cell came up. He turned to look at Harry – obviously asking for permission – and Harry swallowed, and nodded. Draco and the severe looking witch that Moody had called Professor both glanced at him in askance, but he just shook his head at them. Remus' friend Matt put a hand on Harry's shoulder briefly – obviously smelling his unease – and Draco, apparently not appeased by Harry's headshake leaned over.

"Do you need a hug?" he whispered.

"No, thanks," Harry muttered back. Draco shrugged and went back to staring at a witch in magenta robes in the front row; he'd been staring at strangers the whole time, and Harry didn't think he was paying much attention to what was going on at all. Padfoot looked like he'd have liked to be pacing.

"You've suggested that I abuse Harry-"

"I have, yes."

"Implying that I don't care for him... that I have very little regard for his wellbeing, is that right?"

"That's the logical explanation, yes."

"Well," Padfoot said, smirking at the Wizengamot (Fudge, particularly). "I wasn't going to bring this into it, but since you already have... well, this is a criminal trial and I've been accused of enough crimes without adding lying to the Wizengamot to the list... Tell me, after the Dementor attack down in the holding cells-" One of the trainees near Dora squeaked and a tall man put an arm around her and whispered something, but Harry didn't hear it over the shocked and indignant sounds of the other people seated in the courtroom. "-what did the Aurors come down to find?"

"I'm afraid I can't answer that," Dawlish said. "I wasn't down there that morning, and while I've heard stories, one can never be sure about their credibility..."

"I can provide an accurate account."

* * *

All eyes turned to Rufus, who steeled himself and kept his expression calm. Black's expression was one of hopeful disbelief, and Rufus met his eye for the briefest moment, before glancing at Bones again.

"You?" Fudge asked.

"Me," Rufus agreed. While Black hadn't yet told his version of events, Rufus had witnessed enough of his behaviour – the man was by no means a saint, but he was hardly evil, or even _dark_ – and seen enough of the way he treated the Potter boy, to have suspected that there was something not quite right with the whole situation. Black hadn't yet given his own account, but Rufus was convinced anyway; the Wizengamot wouldn't be convinced unless Black did something big to prove them wrong, but to Rufus, it was the little things that mattered.

It was the little things, like the fact that Dumbledore hadn't suspected him, the fact that Black hadn't reacted violently when the Hit Wizards Apparated in, the fact that he'd been just as vulnerable to Dementors as any other prisoner – even if he was immune now – and that he'd said he was innocent in his sleep. They were the things that made all the difference.

There was also the fact that Rufus had been painted as a Black-supporter already – apparently civility toward prisoners was a crime now - and so he'd probably lose his job if Black was convicted. Rufus wanted justice for Black, but his own self-preservation came above even that. Even better was that he could accomplish both with the same action.

"Are you working with him too?" Fudge demanded. Bones was pale, and looked like her entire world would crumble if Rufus' answer was affirmative. He didn't want to crush her; Bones, at least, was competent. Fudge, on the other hand, was a complete waste of space, and so was Dawlish. The fact that helping Black would spite them just made things even sweeter.

"No," he said. "I'm merely offering my own account since – by his own confession - your witness is unable to do so."

"The Chair recognises the witness Rufus-"

"Edmond," Rufus supplied.

* * *

After Scrimgeour's testimony, Fudge called a recess in proceedings, with the promise that they'd resume in twenty minutes with the defence's witnesses. Harry was feeling hopeful. He was pretty sure that most of the legal subtleties had been lost on him, but Padfoot had been clear with most of his points and the people in the stands no longer looked like they wanted to murder Padfoot where he stood, so Harry thought that was a small victory. They didn't believe him, not yet, but they were listening.

Auror Robards was having a word with Moody. Both of them were talking in low voices and Robards in particular looked worried and made Moody promise to keep an eye on his sidekick – Harry wondered if Robards meant Dora – just in case he needed help. He announced he was going to follow the coordinates, and then hurried toward the exit.

"Is she all right?" Dora asked Moody.

"Probably not," Moody replied, looking grim. He fiddled with something small and golden, his magical eye tracking Robards' progress.

"What do you think he was?" Draco asked, staring after Robards too.

"He's an Auror," Harry said.

"Obviously, Potter," Draco snapped. "Merlin, you're stupid!"

"You asked me a question and I answered," Harry snapped back. "If you want a better one, then- I dunno, be clearer next time."

"Fine," Draco said snottily. "Do you think he's a muggleborn, or a halfblood?"

"Where in Merlin's name did that come from?" Harry asked, staring at him, wondering if that was what Draco'd been doing while he was staring at people. He also glanced at Mr Malfoy, but the older wizard didn't seem to have heard their exchange.

"Questions are generally products of thought," Draco sneered. "I can understand why you might find that confusing, since you've probably never had a thought in your li-" The Professor cleared her throat and gave them both unimpressed looks and Harry and Draco shared a guilty, almost-apologetic grimace and stayed silent until she turned her attention back to the giant man on her right. "Just answer the question, Potter."

"What if he's a pureblood?" Harry asked.

"I don't recognise the name," Draco said, as if that discounted that possibility. Harry was forced to concede that it probably did. "Sir?" Draco asked, turning to Snape, who looked torn between exasperation and amusement. If Harry didn't know better, he'd have thought Snape was about to smile. Convinced the world was almost officially backward, Harry fixed his attention on the floor, where Padfoot was drumming his fingers on the sides of his chair and Moony was engaged in a sad staring competition with Dumbledore.

"The trial will resume," Bones boomed, "in two minutes." Harry felt his heart rate pick up.

"Calm down," Matt murmured, putting his hand on Harry's shoulder again. "You're making _me_ nervous."

"Aren't you worried?" Harry couldn't help asking.

"Of course I am. So's everyone else-" Matt tapped the side of his nose and winked. Dora made a noise next to him, and he glanced at her and winked again, but she didn't even seem to notice. Her eyes were distant, and one of her hands was clamped on Moody's sleeve, as if for support. "It bloody stinks." The Professor cleared her throat again, as if telling him off for his language. Matt shrugged and then the Professor's beady eyes met Harry's. She smiled sadly and murmured something to the giant. "-except I can't really say anything to them," Matt continued. "You on the other hand, are just here." Harry smiled reluctantly.

"What does worry smell like?" he asked. Matt arched an eyebrow.

"It's thick," he said. "Kind of like breathing smoke, except it doesn't smell smoky... it's kind of sickly sweet."

"That sounds... er..."

"Unpleasant?" Matt offered.

"Yeah. Sorry."

"It's fine. If you could smell me, I'd probably stink too." Harry wondered if he'd be able to smell it when he was a wolf, and if it would smell the same way for him. Matt grinned. "Of-"

"The trial is about to resume: could everyone please be seated and silent," Fudge called, and the babble stopped immediately. Matt leaned back into his seat and Harry's eyes went right to Padfoot and Moony.

* * *

"What are you telling them?" Remus murmured.

"About Wormtail and Padfoot," Sirius replied in a quiet voice, glancing at the Wizengamot; Fudge was introducing them as witnesses. "About everything-"

"Which of you will be speaking first?" Amelia asked, eyeing Sirius.

"I will," Remus said, and Sirius gave him a sharp look. "The story starts with me."

"Moony-" Sirius muttered.

"Exactly," Remus murmured. "Moony." Sirius hissed when he realised what Moony was about to do.

"I didn't mean _everything_. You don't-" Remus gave Sirius a sad smile. He was very pale and sweat was beading on his forehead, despite the fact that it was reasonably cool inside the courtroom.

"The Chair recognises Remus John Lupin," Fudge said, "witness for the defence."

"In the beginning," Remus said, "there were four of us. Myself, Sirius, James Potter-" Sirius noticed that Remus didn't actually look directly at Harry; most people seemed not to have noticed him sitting innocuously in the stands, and Sirius thought he probably liked it that way. "-and Peter Pettigrew." Anger, hot and smoky burned Sirius' nose, and he saw Remus' shoulders stiffen. "We were all Sorted into Gryffindor and were best friends by the end of the first week of our first year. After that, we were more or less inseparable. I won't go into details – we don't have the time, I'm afraid – but for you to comprehend any of the rest of Sirius' story, you must understand that we were all very close."

There was a trumpeting sound from the stands and Sirius' eyes found Hagrid, who'd pulled out a large flowery handkerchief. McGonagall, next to him, appeared to be crying too.

"We were the sort of friends that did anything for each other. I helped Sirius, James and Peter with their homework, and partnered with them in class, and lied to get them out of trouble and gave them advice when they needed it. I like to think I was a good friend-"

"Congratulations," Fudge said. "If you'd get to the point, though-"

"My point," Remus said, "is despite everything I ever did for them, I never came anywhere close to matching what they did for me." He took a deep breath and lifted his chin and it was at that moment that Sirius realised just how far Remus was willing to go to help him.

"Moony-"

"It's all right, Padfoot," he said calmly. Then, in a defiant voice, he said, "I'm a werewolf." The response was instant; several people shrieked, several gasped and the Aurors had to Disarm a few people before they could hurt Remus. One man was escorted out by a grim looking Scrimgeour.

"Continue, Wolf," Fudge said, and Sirius glared at him until he quailed and hid behind his parchment, and then Remus continued. He spoke, briefly about how his father had upset Greyback – the name, judging from everyone's reactions, was a familiar one – although he never specified when he'd been bitten. Sirius eventually realised that he was protecting Dumbledore from any potential backlash for allowing a werewolf to go to Hogwarts.

"When my friends found out," Remus said, nodding at Sirius, "they accepted me." Several people laughed, and several others muttered rather offensive things to the people next to them. Sirius glowered in their respective directions, though Remus ignored them. It had to be affecting him – his hearing was better than Sirius', after all – but he didn't smell upset, and he didn't look it either. "And they wanted to help-"

"They should have put you down!" someone called, and this time Remus flinched. Sirius snarled under his breath and several other people in the crowd reacted in his defence too; Sirius saw Dora and McGonagall glaring in the speaker's direction. Dumbledore cleared his throat and uttered a cold warning, and then, a moment later, there was a shriek which cut off with a mooing noise, and then several other people made shocked noises.

Sirius craned his neck, trying to see, and chuckled at what he spotted; a witch in the middle of the stands was sporting black and white ears and a pair of rather impressive horns. Sirius' gaze went straight to Harry, who'd gone bright red and appeared to be trying to sink into his seat. Behind him, Matt was doubled over with laughter, and the Malfoy boy was whispering to a sour looking Snape.

"What did you do to her?" a man demanded, while the witch made noises that wouldn't have been out of place on a farm.

"I didn't do anything," Sirius said politely. "But it's reasonably easy to work out what happened; someone decided that if she's going to act like a cow, she might as well look the part." Remus chortled next to him, and a few others scattered around the room did as well. Unfortunately, Sirius' humour didn't appeal to the Aurors, most of whom had their wands trained on Sirius.

"Sirius is not responsible for this," Dumbledore said, also watching Harry. He didn't say anything else, but a wave of his hand had the Aurors lowering their wands, and a nod of his head had McGonagall standing and flicking her wand to reverse Harry's accidental magic. Harry looked relieved, and also a little disappointed. "Remus, if you'd continue?"

"Of course, sir." Remus waited until it was quiet again and then said, "My friends wanted to help me, and so they became Animagi." It seemed Remus had anticipated the outcry this comment would cause, because he paused and glanced at Sirius, who shrugged.

"Animagi?" Dumbledore asked, looking stunned. "But you're not on the-"

"We never registered," Sirius said. "Now _there's_ a crime I'll admit to being guilty of." Umbridge beamed and stabbed her quill into the inkwell before scribbling something down, and Rattler – the victim of Umbridge's enthusiasm - brushed spots of ink off his face. Dumbledore's eyebrows lifted and he and Sirius stared at each other – Sirius felt like Dumbledore was reassessing him – while everyone talked around them.

"Enough!" Amelia boomed. "We'd like to get through this today, so if the public would kindly be silent!" She waited and then nodded. "Thank you. Mr Lupin, continue, please."

"Werewolves are only dangerous to humans," Remus said. "It was still a very risky thing to do, but they weren't at risk of catching my... condition, at least. Sirius was – sorry, is – a dog. James was a stag-" Sirius saw Dumbledore's mouth forming the word 'Prongs'. He was nodding, and Sirius felt a surge of hope. "Peter is a rat."

"Is?" Fudge stammered. "But, Wol- Lupin, Peter Pettigrew is dead-"

"I thought this was my testimony, Minister, not yours," Remus said politely. Sirius sniggered.

"But Pettigrew-"

"-will be addressed in my testament," Sirius said. "I can start now, if you'd like, or did you want to stick to procedure and have Remus questioned first?" Amelia waved a hand, indicating that Sirius could ask whatever he liked.

Sirius thought for a moment; he didn't really need to question Remus about the credibility of his testament, because the others would probably do that. He didn't really have much to ask. He thought for a moment and then decided that it probably couldn't hurt to use this as a sort of character reference, since that, after all, was what he'd be judged on due to his lack of other evidence. He cleared his throat.

"You've made it clear that we were – and still are – reasonably close," Sirius said, feeling foolish for addressing Remus so formally. Remus nodded. "So would you say I was a good friend?"

"I would, yes," Remus said calmly.

"And I risked my life for you, once a month?" Sirius asked.

"Yes," Remus replied.

"Until when?"

"You were at my house, with me, on the full moon on the night that Lily and James died," Remus said.

"I was," Sirius agreed. "Tell me, Moo- Remus, what did the Death Eaters think of you?"

"They wanted me dead."

"Did I?" Sirius asked, and Remus' eyes gleamed.

"Want me dead?" he asked, looking believably stunned. "No, of course you didn't; you were there on full moons, helping me. If you'd wanted me dead, you could have just left me to deal with things on my own."

"But I didn't?"

"No, I don't think you'd missed a full moon in at least a year. You were always there, even when James and Peter couldn't make it."

"So you'd say my behaviour was uncharacteristic of a Death Eater," Sirius said.

"I would, yes." The conversation felt unnatural; most of the things Remus was saying were things that they never talked about – some things didn't need to be said aloud – and to do it here just felt... wrong. Sirius knew he wasn't an overly modest person, but this ego stoking made him feel like a bit of a prat, particularly since it was Remus he was talking to; usually Remus was the one who tried to _deflate_ his ego. "You risked your life to help me numerous times – me, a werewolf. I can't imagine many of these people here are Death Eaters, but even they wouldn't go out of their way for me, the way you did."

"Oh, Moony, I'm blushing," Sirius said in a low voice, and smirked.

"Shut up, you prat," Remus shot back, hardly moving his mouth to do so.

"But you're my brave defender," Sirius muttered. Remus rolled his eyes. Sirius took a moment to clear the smirk from his face and then, with a slightly apologetic grimace asked, "Would you say you and I were the closest?"

"We do share certain canine attributes," Remus said wryly, and a few people – Sirius among them – chuckled. "But frankly, no. We were close – brothers, really, more than friends – but if we were brothers, you and James were twins." Sirius smiled and Remus smiled back. "Absolutely mental, the pair of you," he continued, fondly. "The perfect double act."

"You've already made it clear that I did a lot for you, apparently despite the fact that it wasn't you that I was closest to." Sirius grimaced – feeling like a complete git _again_, but Remus just smiled. "So what do you think I would have done for James?"

"Anything," Remus said simply. Sirius expected the audience to break out talking again but everything was oddly hushed.

Sirius caught Dumbledore's eye and nodded to show he was finished with his questions. Dumbledore stood – Fudge sank back into his chair looking disappointed - and came to stand in front of them. Dumbledore was tall – taller than Sirius, even when Sirius was standing, and so he positively dwarfed them when they were sitting down. He took his spectacles off, cleaned them on his robes, replaced them, and then surveyed them both through the glass. Sirius shifted, feeling rather like he was in the Headmaster's office after a prank on Snape, even though it was Remus who was about to be questioned.

"I'm afraid I'm at a loss about where to begin," Dumbledore murmured, in the kindest tone Sirius had heard from him (excluding the times it had been directed at Harry) since before Halloween. His eyes were also just a bit warmer, and Sirius thought – and hoped – that the older wizard was beginning to change his mind. "Nothing in your story directly relates to Sirius' guilt – except for the lack of registration, of course..." He paused, his expression a strange mix of curious and calculating. "Your story about Animagi is all you have to offer today?"

"It is," Remus agreed. "The rest is Sirius' to tell." Dumbledore adjusted his hat.

"I could attack you with questions, but I truly think the best way to test the reliability of what you've just said, Remus, is to have Sirius transform."

"Let me go, then," Sirius said, beaming.

"Oh, no," Fudge said, waggling a finger. "You can do it from your chair."

"And break my legs?" Sirius asked, attempting to lift his arms. The chains rattled. "Dogs don't bend this way, Minister."

"If you try to run, you will be stopped," Dumbledore warned, and then the chains recoiled and Sirius shook his hands and rotated his wrists a few times before standing slowly. Remus looked a little put out that he hadn't been let loose too.

"Don't attack me," Sirius said. He hunched and then morphed into Padfoot. It was unpleasant; scents were strong as a human, but as a dog, they were almost overwhelming. He sneezed a few times, and rubbed his nose with a paw, while Remus gave him a sympathetic look, and Dumbledore watched him carefully. Padfoot shook and then sat down, watching the Wizengamot. Umbridge looked particularly sour, and something told Padfoot she was a cat person.

"That will do," Dumbledore murmured, and Padfoot reared up and became Sirius again. Several wands followed him.

"Yeah, yeah," he said, flopping down in his chair again before anyone could tell him to. He rubbed his wrists once more and then let the chains bind them in place. "Well, I think that proves Remus was telling the truth, so unless there's anything else you want to ask him..." Fudge, Dumbledore and Amelia exchanged a glance.

"The Chair," Fudge said slowly, "recognises Sirius Orion Black, witness for the defence."


	56. Guilty Hearts

Remus thought he was lucky to have made it through his questioning with his voice still intact; Sirius was practically croaking out his answers to Fudge's questions, and Remus could see him shooting longing glances at the glass of water in front of Amelia.

"-all very well and good, but can you prove it?" Fudge said, looking smug. "Where's Pettigrew now?"

"If I knew, do you really think I wouldn't have arranged for him to be here?" Sirius asked hoarsely. He'd come into the trial having fun, Remus thought, but that had long passed. "He's an evil git and a coward and he's in hiding-"

"Which matches your story nicely," Fudge said. "But can you-"

"I've given you as much proof as I can!" Sirius wriggled his arm in the chains until he managed to get his sleeve back. "Look, no Dark Mark. After everyone's testimony, you can't honestly think I'm an evil murdering Death Eater!" Yes, Sirius was definitely fed up. Remus glanced in Sirius' direction and offered him a small smile, but he was too busy scowling at Fudge to see it.

"Perhaps not, but that's the thing – we don't like to rely on opinions. We like facts to trust-"

"Facts?" Sirius demanded. "Then why the hell is Malfoy sitting up there, free, while I'm in chains?" Malfoy shifted in the crowd. "And what about Snape?!" Remus knew Snape had helped Sirius a few times, but there was still obviously no love lost between those two. "Both of them have Dark Marks, and you can put their parts in the war down to the Imperius curse, but there's no way to prove that, is there, so obviously you _did_ go on opinions-"

"There was ample evidence to support Mr Malfoy's innocence," Fudge said.

"Galleons don't count, Minister," Sirius croaked. Fudge's face turned a nasty red colour, and Malfoy was pink up in the stands. Amelia, Dumbledore and even Scrimgeour looked disapproving.

"That's not- he didn't- Mr Malfoy is not the one on trial," Fudge said. "He was found innocent-" Fudge's face crinkled, as if he'd just thought of something unpleasant. "-and before you ask, Black, Dumbledore himself saw to Snape's trial, so-"

"He what?" Sirius asked, and there was something in his voice that Remus couldn't place. "He-" Sirius looked at Dumbledore, who seemed to be expecting a challenge. "-I mean, _you_ gave Snape a trial?" Movement caught Remus' eye and he saw Snape fold his arms.

"I did," Dumbledore said, perhaps a touch defensively. Sirius stared at him, and Dumbledore continued in a gentle but firm voice. "Severus Snape's innocence has already been determined and whatever it is you find objectionable about that is irrelevant to the matter at hand."

Sirius blinked. He was quiet for a long time, and Remus didn't like the scents coming off of him at all; there was shock, anger, sadness and above all, genuine confusion. It was hard to say exactly what Sirius smelled like, but whatever it was, it made Remus' chest ache. It was a bit like when Sirius had been struggling with the Dementor's Draught.

"Well, back to what I was saying..." Fudge said, apparently pleased that Sirius had quietened. "What- that is to say, is there any tangible evidence can you offer us, Black? Because we want to believe you, really-" Remus snorted quietly, but he was worried; Sirius didn't appear to have heard Fudge, which was unusual because Sirius had been listening to _everything_ today.

"Sirius?" Remus murmured, stretching out to kick Sirius' ankle. "Padfoot." Sirius jerked in his chair, but his eyes never left Dumbledore.

"I don't understand," he said finally, looking hurt.

"Black," Fudge said impatiently, "it was a simple-"

"He was a Death Eater," Sirius said, tilting his head toward Snape. "You _know_ he was a Death Eater. And I wasn't- I never- but- Why him?" Sirius' voice was very quiet, and actually rather pitiful. Remus was usually very good at following Sirius' line of thought, but even he still wasn't entirely sure what Sirius was talking about.

"Pardon?" Dumbledore asked.

"I said: why him?" Sirius repeated, in that same, shattered voice. "If you wanted to give Snape a second chance, then fine, but why didn't I get the same?" Sirius frowned at the floor. "Maybe one good deed's enough to redeem him from a life of pretty questionable choices, but I lived a good life... I _fought_-" Sirius' voice broke. "-for you, would have died for our side... but then it looks like I've made one mistake and that's enough to condemn me?" Sirius cocked his head. "I just- I don't understand."

_Oh Merlin_, Remus thought. He'd known about Snape's trial, of course, though it had been private, so he hadn't been able to attend. He hadn't cared that Dumbledore had given Snape a trial and not Sirius – Remus had hated Sirius back then – but looking back... He'd probably be furious if it was him, but Sirius just looked rattled. Fudge noticed and, ever the politician – though a terrible one – seized the advantage.

"Answer the question, Black: Can you prove your innocence?" Sirius looked over at Fudge, annoyed.

"I can't prove anything," he said. Then he frowned, and even Remus knew he'd made a mistake. "No, wait-"

"No evidence?" Fudge said, arching an eyebrow.

"My character and morality have had a pretty thorough-"

"Very well, we'll judge you on your character," Fudge said. "You say that you didn't abuse Harry Potter-"

"Of course I didn't!" Sirius sounded... off. He'd raised his voice a few times during the trial, but this wasn't for emphasis. It was a loss of patience, or loss of control. And Sirius' eyes were still flicking between Dumbledore and Snape. "I'd never hurt-"

"But he was hurt, wasn't he? Badly?"

"Yes-"

"While in your care?"

"I was trying to help him-"

"Was he hurt while in your care: Yes or no, Black?!" Sirius tore his eyes away from the crowd and the Wizengamot and fixed them on Fudge.

"Yes, he was, but-"

"And you were the one responsible for putting him in a position where he could have been injured?" Sirius had carefully evaded the details behind the cave in his testimony, but the Ministry had been involved with Harry at St Mungo's , and so they knew the outcome anyway.

"No-"

"So Harry makes the decisions, does he? You let a boy make the judgment calls?"

"No, I did-"

"Then you were lying to me?"

"No- Merlin, _yes, _but-"

"So you endangered him, failed to protect him, and then left him in the care of a man – sorry, _werewolf_, who you weren't friendly with at the time, in the hopes that he'd get the boy the necessary treatment, correct?" Sirius glared at him, face red. He was obviously angry, and trying to think of what to say; Remus knew better than anyone that Sirius could be a bit of a liability when he was angry. If he spoke out now, he'd probably insult someone, but if he said nothing, it was basically an admission of guilt. "Black?"

"It wasn't exactly like that-"

"So my summary of events is _wrong?_"

"Well, no-"

"So you're not really a fit guardian," Fudge said, smoothing his robes. "And," he continued, before Sirius could protest, "what interests me is that, despite your Auror training and supposed dedication to the law, you still broke it to befriend your werewolf."

"He has a name," Sirius snapped, and Dumbledore seemed to be nodding in agreement. Remus felt a little warmed.

"Could you explain why?"

"Why, what?" Sirius asked.

"Why you broke the law? Am I right in assuming it was for belief? Did you think that some things were more important?"

"I suppose," Sirius said, looking confused; Remus was confused too – why was Fudge suddenly so understanding?

"So you'd do anything, as long as you thought it was the right thing?"

"Wouldn't we all-"

"Yes or no?"

"Stop cutting him off!" Remus said angrily.

"Stop speaking out of turn," Fudge said. "Now, Black: yes or no."

"Yes," Sirius snapped. He was obviously slipping and getting frustrated with himself and with Fudge.

"Your family were strong supporters of You-Know-Who, weren't they?"

"Some of them."

"Your brother was a Death Eater, correct?"

"He quit," Sirius said stiffly, obviously startled that Regulus had come up. He shouldn't have been; Remus was sure he'd probably anticipated the Black family angle, and even planned how to deal with the inevitable questions. He seemed to have forgotten that, though.

"Get it together, Padfoot," Remus murmured.

"You don't think I'm trying?" Sirius hissed.

"But he was?" Fudge asked.

"Yes."

"And we know from Lupin that you'd do anything for a brother, even if they weren't related to you, don't we. If your brother had wanted you to join his master, you would have... 'anything' _was_ the word Lupin used."

"Not-"

"That wasn't a question, Black. Please hold your tongue." Fudge rocked back on his heels, apparently enjoying himself, and Umbridge wore a wide smile as her hand raced over her transcription. After a moment of staring into the crowd, and a few thoughtful glances at Sirius, Fudge announced that he was finished. Sirius slumped, looking annoyed and relieved all at once.

* * *

Gawain staggered as he landed, worry making him perhaps a little less steady than he'd usually be. It had been almost three hours since McKinnon was supposed to have met him, and she hadn't even contacted him with an excuse. She's sounded like a mess when he spoke to her that morning, and she'd been fragile lately anyway... silence from her on the day of the trial was definitely not a good thing. He cursed the twitchy little _Prophet_reporter who'd caught him on his way out of the courtroom and bombarded him with ridiculous questions; Gawain had answered two and then given up and told the man to go and listen in if he wanted news.

Gawain shook his head, still irritated, and tucked his Sidekick into his robes. He glanced around and then he spotted her.

McKinnon was sitting, hunched on the ground beside a large white gravestone. Gawain was a few yards away, and could still see that she was trembling. Not far from her feet, a man lay, unmoving. _Oh, dear Merlin, no_, Gawain thought, hurrying forward.

"_Expelliarmus,_" he said – thinking that this was becoming his usual way to greet her - and her wand flew into his hand. She hardly seemed to notice.

"I'm a monster," she choked, as Gawain knelt down beside the man. He had a pulse, thankfully, and didn't appear to be hurt. He aimed his wand at the man, and McKinnon let out a shriek and knocked his hand away. Gawain flicked his wand and ropes wrapped around her, the way they had in the cells the day she went after Black. "No," she said. "No, he'll get away!" Something in her voice made him pause.

"I see," he said carefully. She continued to tremble – in fact, she was almost rocking – and her eyes never left the unconscious man. "McKinnon? McKinnon, look at me." She did, slowly, and her eyes were half-sad, half-mad.

"He killed them," she said. Gawain glanced at the man again.

"He's a murderer?" he asked, and she let out a sob and nodded. Gawain didn't get a coherent word out her for another few minutes, just a lot about Black and monsters. Gawain tried to talk to her, and tried to pat her knee or her hand, but that got him nowhere. Eventually, she calmed down enough for him to inch a bit closer and try to get an arm around her, but she wriggled away, struggling against her ropes.

"Don't," she whispered. "Don't, I don't deserve it!"

"McKinnon-"

"Don't! I should be in Azkaban!" She wriggled and wiped her wet cheek on her shoulder because her hands were pinned. "Arrest me! You have to arrest-"

"Enough!" Gawain said; being gentle hadn't worked, so he hoped a rougher approach would. "I'm not arresting anyone, do you understand?" She blinked up at him, and Gawain was sorry to see that she didn't seem to understand.

"But you have to – him and me- both of us- we're both monsters! Please, sir, please, you have-"

"Enough!" he said again, and she flinched and fell silent. He felt guilty for yelling at her when she was very obviously not in her right mind, but he pushed that down. "Can you tell me what's wrong with you?"

"_E-everything's_ wrong with me," she began, and Gawain sighed.

_Should have seen that coming, _he thought resignedly.

"How about him?" Gawain asked, gesturing to the unconscious man.

"I put him to sleep," she said.

"I can see that," Gawain said patiently. "Can you tell me why?"

For the first time, a bit of what Gawain thought was the real McKinnon, peered out through her brown eyes. The look she gave him was almost condescending.

"He- he's Peter Pettigrew," she said, as if it should be obvious.

"Peter Pettigrew?" he asked. It was a name he was familiar with – one he thought he'd heard recently, in fact – but it took him a moment to remember where. Gawain swore loudly and rather colourfully, and looked at the man with new eyes. "I thought he was dead?"

"S-so did I!" McKinnon said, breaking into a fresh round of tears.

The implications of Pettigrew being alive hit Gawain like bludgers. He was reasonably familiar with the case – it had seemed like a smart thing to do once he knew he'd be working with McKinnon – and so it was easy enough to deduce the truth with the new evidence.

It meant Sirius Black, had in all likelihood, been framed for his mass-murder. Black was... innocent. He glanced at McKinnon, who'd obviously reached this conclusion hours ago and was also struggling to wrap her head around what the consequences of that were; he was willing to bet now that Black hadn't shown up in her house in September to hurt her. He'd probably wanted a friend, wanted to confide in her. And, then there was the significantly more troubling matter; McKinnon had attempted to murder a trapped, unarmed, _innocent_ man. That had been bad when they'd thought Black was evil, but now that he wasn't... well, if he was McKinnon, he'd probably be curled up on the ground too.

Gawain breathed in deeply, counted to ten, and then exhaled. Black's life was potentially at stake. Then, he removed the ropes around McKinnon, who didn't move much at all, and tossed her wand back.

"Courage, virtue, determination and intelligence," Gawain said into his Sidekick, and reached out to put a hand on McKinnon's knee. She didn't respond. He murmured, "Phoenix," which was Moody's password, and his Sidekick warmed briefly.

"Robards?" Moody's growled greeting was soft, and Gawain was fairly certain he was still sitting in the stands. There was a buzzing sound behind him, like people talking. "Have you found her?"

"I have. What's happening with the trial?"

"They're revoting," Moody said.

"Voting? Already?!" He hadn't even been gone for an hour yet. He'd been expecting to have more time.

"Lupin was quick – they didn't really question him at all - and Black obviously knew exactly what he was going to say because he was done in ten minutes, and Fudge took half that to tear him to pieces." Gawain could hear the shrug in his voice.

"What do you think?"

"I don't know what to think," Moody admitted. "Most of the Wizengamot are against him, but Dumbledore and Amelia are on Black's side and that counts for a lot... Fudge isn't happy – he's called a recess and there'll be another vote in about ten minutes."

"Did Black say anything about Pettigrew in his story?"

"He did," Moody said, sounding suspicious. "Said Pettigrew framed him, in fact. Of course, Pettigrew's dead, but aside from that, it sounded plausible... why?"

"McKinnon and I aren't alone here."

"Who- _no?!_" Moody said, sounding stunned.

"Yep," Gawain replied grimly. "He's subdued, and I'll get him there as soon as I can." Moody cackled – apparently he realised just how quickly things were going to turn upside down. "Have a word to Scrimgeour and Bones, if you can; give them warning."

"And Fudge?" Gawain grunted; he had as little respect for Fudge as the rest of the Auror Department. Moody cackled again, and then Gawain's Sidekick fell silent.

"You're taking him in?" McKinnon asked, with a rather pinched expression. "You're going to free Sirius?"

"I am," Gawain said, and she relaxed a little bit; her expression smoothed out at least, and she no longer looked like she was in pain. Gawain checked Pettigrew for any weapons but he had none, and so he conjured ropes and added several other binding and sleeping spells. To anyone with the ability to see magic, Pettigrew would probably look like some sort of cocooned insect. McKinnon watched with an unreadable expression as Gawain cast another charm on Pettigrew that held him upright and allowed Gawain to control him like a puppet. Then, Gawain turned to McKinnon and asked, "Would you like to help me?"

Gawain was hoping the chance to amend some of her wrongs might be incentive for McKinnon to pull herself together. The response he got was a little less dramatic than he'd expected, or wanted. Instead of leaping to her feet, she froze, and picked up her wand. She twirled it between her fingers and then looked up at Gawain.

"Handing Pettigrew over will mean Sirius goes free?" she asked.

"It will," Gawain said. The tiniest smile flickered over her face, and she got to her feet. She was a little wobbly, so Gawain steadied her and got a nodded thanks. Hen gripped Pettigrew's limp arm and then offered his other arm to McKinnon.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. There was a crack and Gawain reached for her, but his hand only caught air. Her Sidekick clattered to the ground.

"Damn it!" he snarled. He flicked his wand at the place where she'd vanished and put up preservation wards that would keep her magical trace intact until he could come back and use it to track her. He snatched up her Sidekick, made sure he had Pettigrew, and then turned on the spot.

* * *

Sirius saw Dumbledore look over at him out of the corner of his eye, and studiously avoided eye-contact. The fact that Dumbledore had voted in his favour had lessened Sirius' anger, but other feelings – hurt, betrayal, disbelief – were all still there. Sirius couldn't look at him properly without feeling like he wanted to break something, or alternatively, cry. He glanced at Remus, who'd closed his eyes just after the first vote and was yet to open them. Sirius thought he was attempting to control his stress levels by pretending he was somewhere else.

Mad-Eye was glancing in his direction too – he and Scrimgeour were over by the Wizengamot instead of in their respective seats – but the only one Sirius looked at was Scrimgeour. Sirius wasn't afraid to see acceptance or judgement or anything on the Head Auror's face, but Mad-Eye scared him. What if he hadn't believed Sirius' testimony? What if he still blamed Sirius? Sirius was ashamed to admit he was afraid to find out. So, he focused on Scrimgeour, who, disarmingly, _grinned._

Sirius gave him a tentative, very wary smile back and risked a look at Dumbledore, who looked torn between smiling and looking grim. Encouraged, he dared to look at Mad-Eye... who was limping over. Remus opened an eye and stiffened when he saw who it was. Mad-Eye stood in front of Sirius for a long time, and Sirius hardly dared to move. He wasn't even really breathing. Then, Mad-Eye grinned as if he knew something Sirius didn't, and nodded before walking away.

"Right," Sirius said, tapping impatiently on the sides of his chair. He and Remus shared a long, worried look and then Remus shut his eyes and went back to trying to calm himself down. Sirius' insides twinged with worry; he was worried about himself, of course, and of what would happen to Harry, but he was also incredibly worried for Remus. Sirius, at least, had been able to justify his actions. Remus, who would be judged with Sirius, hadn't even had a chance to explain himself.

"Padfoot," Remus muttered, as Sirius' tapping intensified. "Padfoot."

"What? Now it sounds like a hum instead of a tap-"

"Either way it's annoying," Remus snapped, without opening his eyes.

"Yeah, well I'm restless," Sirius growled. Remus opened one eye and looked at him. Sirius glowered back.

"It sounds like you need a walk," Remus said. "Next you'll be chewing the furniture." Sirius' anger faded, and he even stopped tapping. He gave Remus – who had both eyes closed again – a grateful smile, for making a joke; otherwise, it was likely to have descended into a petty argument, which was the last thing either of them needed. The corners of Remus' mouth turned up.

Sirius let out a loud sigh and shifted in his chair so that he could follow Fudge's movement back to the stands. As Fudge opened his mouth to speak, however, he was interrupted by Scrimgeour putting a hand on his shoulder and gesturing to the courtroom door.

Sirius glanced in that direction, where Robards, and another man – a shortish, rather average looking bloke - were standing. The man – who'd been slumped, and probably not standing on his own – moved a little and then slowly straightened, looking around with confused terror. Then the man's eyes found Sirius and he staggered backward, trying ineffectively to get past Robards. When that didn't work, he hunched – the way Sirius often did when he was about to become Padfoot - and looked even more afraid when that failed.

_Godric Bloody Gryffindor, _Sirius thought, his mouth falling open. It couldn't be- but it was. Sirius knew that wispy, fair hair, and that pointed nose, and those small eyes. He couldn't see their colour, but he knew they'd be blue and probably watery.

Remus made a sniffing noise next to him, probably wondering what had happened to Sirius' scent. Sirius kicked him in the shin, hard, and Remus swore and blinked his eyes open.

"Sirius, was that really-"

"Moony," Sirius managed to say, his eyes never leaving Peter. He was surprised how calm he felt; he'd expected to see Peter and go mad and vengeful. Revenge was the furthest thing from his mind at the moment, though. Mostly, all he felt was shock. "Moony, bloody _look._"

"Oh my Merlin," Remus whispered, and he looked furious. Remus looked like he'd like to get up and tear Peter to pieces; his fingers were twitching, and his shoulder were tensed, as if he was preparing himself to try to break free of his chains.

"Calm down," Sirius murmured, watching Scrimgeour and Mad-Eye go to help Robards with an unsurprisingly reluctant Peter.

"I'm afraid there's been a mistake," Peter was saying shrilly, "I can't be here – it's not safe! Sirius Black's a murderer, and he's going to try to-" Remus growled again and moved as if to lunge out of his chair, but the chains held him back.

"You're going to hurt yourself," Sirius told him, nudging Remus' ankle with his foot. Remus kicked him. "Moony, calm-"

"Calm down?" Remus snarled. "Sirius, Peter's the reason we're in this whole mess! He's the reason Harry doesn't have any parents-"

"And he's about to be tried for all of that," Sirius said, glancing at Harry out of the corner of his eye. Any murderous feelings he still harboured for Peter faded, though the loathing and fury were still there.

"What is the meaning of this?" Umbridge cried. "Minister, I thought we were voting-"

"We've got another witness, Madam," Scrimgeour replied, shoving Peter forward. "I'd like to introduce Peter Pettigrew."

The stands were instantly in uproar – some people were angry, some disbelieving, others were confused or relieved – but one figure in particular caught Sirius' attention. He watched as Harry stood – Matt reached for him, but Harry had a rather intent look on his face and didn't even seem to have noticed – and made his way out of the stands. That, of course, made everyone carry on for an entirely different reason ("It's Potter! He's here! He's alive!"), and Harry's shoulders slumped but he didn't stop until he was standing in front of Peter, who was still babbling to the Aurors. Peter flinched, and Robards shook him, as if reminding Peter that he had nowhere to run.

Everything went dead silent, and so Sirius heard it perfectly clearly when Peter squeaked out a, "H-Harry." There was a pause, where Harry looked uncertain for a moment, and Sirius found himself straining against his own chains, wanting to be there with his godson. "Harry, you've got to help me- they're going to kill me! Your parents wouldn't have wanted me dead, I was their friend, Harry-" This time, it was Harry who flinched. Sirius' hands balled into fists. "-they wouldn't have wanted anything to happen to me-"

"Shut up," Harry said, and Peter's mouth moved, but no sound came out. Harry looked scared, and actually glanced in the direction of the stands, where the Malfoys , Matt, Dora and the Hogwarts staff were sitting.

_Merlin's hairy knuckles, _Sirius thought. _What the hell is going on?_ Harry took a small step closer to Peter. Robards, Mad-Eye and Scrimgeour looked uncertain, but seemed willing to let Harry do whatever he wanted to Peter, who looked absolutely terrified. Sirius wondered if he might faint. Remus growled quietly beside him, and it was so quiet in the courtroom that the sound echoed.

Harry's next words echoed too.

"You," he told Peter, "are going to tell them everything."

* * *

Peter'd already confessed enough to earn him a life sentence in Azkaban by the time Scrimgeour conjured him a chair and forced him into it. If Sirius hadn't felt so worried – he had no idea what Harry'd done to make Peter confess everything, and hoped it was nothing dark or dangerous – or so vindicated, then he'd probably have felt sorry for his former friend.

Peter looked absolutely terrified as he spewed out secrets – without prompting – and he was obviously trying to fight whatever it was that was making him talk. Occasionally he'd stutter, or try to talk into his shoulder, but an invisible force would compel him to face Fudge and the rest of the Wizengamot and continue.

The worst moments were where he'd clamp his jaw shut and manage to stay quiet for a few seconds, but then his eyes would bulge, and he'd swell then explode with another condemning testimony. Sirius desperately wanted to go free, and he hated every fibre of Peter's miserable being, but this sort of compulsion wasn't right. Sirius wondered if it was possible that Harry had used accidental magic to cast an Imperius curse.

Remus was watching Peter like prey, and the rest of the audience also had their eyes glued to him, but Dumbledore, like Sirius, was watching Harry. Dumbledore looked troubled, and perhaps even a little bit scared at what was happening. While Sirius was still angry and disappointed with his old Headmaster, he couldn't blame him for feeling that way, because he felt the same.

Harry's eyes were wide and scared, and his face pasty, and that he seemed to want to melt into the wall behind him, by the stairs that led into the stands.

"Well," Amelia said, as Peter admitted to having gone to Godric's Hollow after Lily and James' deaths to kill Harry, "I think we've heard enough. You can stop, Pettigrew." Except Peter didn't. He kept babbling, and looked terrified all the while. "Those in favour of dropping the charges of dark magic, and of being Death Eater, against Sirius Black, and, by association, Remus Lupin...?" Amelia asked, over the top of Peter's high-pitched confessions. Not one person left their hand down. Sirius didn't feel relieved, or euphoric, or anything like that.

In fact, the only thing he thought at all, was, _Finally._ Remus glanced over and they shared a small, tired smile. Several cameras flashed, and several reporters shouted questions. Harry looked dazed – he was crying – and still staring at Peter in horror.

"There's still the matter of their other crimes, however," Fudge said, shooting Peter a look.

"Not today," Amelia said, with finality. "You will both be required to attend a secondary hearing at a later date. You are not required to remain in Ministry custody until then, but your wands will not be returned to you until afterward."

"Fine," Sirius said, shifting in his chair. Scrimgeour came forward to release them.

"-should be dead! I meant for them to die, for all of them to die! I would have killed them!" Peter announced, shrilly. Remus snarled, and Scrimgeour gripped his arm to restrain him. Sirius took a step forward, only to be intercepted by Shacklebolt.

"Get out of my way," Sirius snapped, shoving the other man aside.

"Black-" someone called. Sirius ignored them. Peter shrank in fear, and continued to talk about how much he'd wanted them all to die.

"Death would have been kinder than Azkaban, Sirius. I didn't want to hurt you, and Remus wouldn't have been alone in death, like he was in life. He'd have been cured! And Harry would have been with Lily and James-" Sirius could have punched him – he was close enough – but the thought didn't even stay in his mind long enough for him to consider it.

No, Sirius strode right past the quivering, chatty mess that was Peter, to where Harry was standing, and knelt down. He put a hand on Harry's shoulder, startling him. Slowly, Harry dragged his eyes away from Peter, to Sirius, who he seemed a little surprised to see. Sirius opened his arms and Harry launched into them, hugging Sirius so tightly around the neck that Sirius was in danger of suffocating. It it was a small price to pay when this was the closest he'd been to Harry for over a week.

"I just want him to stop," Harry whispered, shaking. "I didn't know that it would- that he'd- Padfoot-"

"End it, kiddo," Sirius said gently. His voice was hoarse – and maybe a bit shaky – though he definitely didn't feel like he might cry... well, maybe he did, but just a bit.

"_F-Finite_?" Harry said, and it sounded like a question, but Peter fell silent behind them. For a moment, anyway; then he started to sob like an over-grown baby. Sirius moved to scoop Harry up – the way he had on Halloween the year before – but Harry moved back. Sirius scanned his face, and smiled slightly at the stubborn set of his jaw; Harry was in a right state, but he still wasn't about to let Sirius carry him out in front of this many people.

"Let's go home," Sirius murmured. Harry wiped his cheeks and slipped one small, rather cold hand into Sirius'. "Moony, are you coming?" he called, as he stood. Remus was watching someone up in the stands – maybe Matt or Dora? – and nodded slowly, mouthing, 'sorry', and came to stand beside them. Sirius transferred Harry's hand to Remus', and then went to crouch down by Peter's chair.

"You're right that death would have been kinder," Sirius said quietly, and Peter quivered and wouldn't meet his eyes. "And it would be kinder now, for you. But you've fought so hard to stay alive – to _survive_ – that I think it's only fair that you get to live the life you sold everything to keep." He straightened, and Peter burst into noisy tears. "I'd put up wards to stop him from transforming and escaping," Sirius said, glancing at Scrimgeour. Then he glanced at Amelia. "I'll be in touch."

She nodded, and no one said anything – except for a reporter, who wanted to know how Sirius felt – so Sirius ruffled Harry's hair and led him and Remus toward the doors of Courtroom Ten.

Sirius passed through them, not quite free, but closer to it than he'd been in a long time, and smiled at the other two. Remus smiled that same, slightly sad, slightly tired smile, and Harry managed a smile too, though he still looked shaken. For the first time in a month, it was just the three of them.

Things weren't all right - Sirius was optimistic, but he wasn't stupid – but, while they'd definitely had good times in hiding, things hadn't been properly all right then either. Now, Sirius thought that - eventually - things could be.

* * *

"Remus? Sirius?" Albus left the courtroom in time to see Sirius unlocking an abandoned office door. Sirius glanced up, passed Harry the wand he'd been using, and then gestured for them to go inside. Sirius didn't follow. Instead, he turned to face Albus, his eyes wary, and rather sad.

"Did you want something?" Sirius asked, in a rather abrupt voice. Albus didn't step any closer.

"For what it's worth, I'd like to offer you my apologies-"

"Your apologies?" Sirius asked, with a stony look. "With all due respect, sir, that doesn't really fix anything."

"I know," Albus sighed. He'd expected that sort of response, and that didn't stop it from hurting, but he was glad; he deserved the pain. "I'm not even asking you to accept it. Discard it, if you so wish. I would not blame you if you did."

"I don't hate you, you know," Sirius offered.

"That is more than I deserve."

"I know," Sirius said, with a small smile. It faded quickly, to be replaced with another sad look. "You were doing what you thought was right, and that makes up for it... a bit. And I understand why you made those choices – in all likelihood, I'd have made the same ones if I was in your place – but just because I understand it..." He trailed off, frowning.

"You do not have to explain yourself to me, Sirius. I gave up the right to that information-"

"Look," he said, "I don't... hate you. But I do blame you, and I'm pretty bloody disappointed with the way things played out after the war. It's not all your fault, but Azkaban and my lack of trial is pretty much on you."

"I know," Albus murmured. Sirius stepped forward, and rather abruptly, hugged him. Albus patted his back but just as quickly as Sirius had approached, he'd backed off again.

"And I hope you feel guilty," Sirius said, in a rather choked voice, "for a long time, sir. I'm sorry. Contact Harry and Remus as much as you want – this doesn't involve them – but leave me alone. I trust you – despite everything, can you believe it? – but I know you can't be trusted to make the right decisions for me, and I've already spent enough time suffering through the results of your attempts." Albus bowed his head and tried to wipe his eyes without Sirius seeing, but he needn't have worried; Sirius had turned and entered the office.

"Sirius," Albus said, planning to tell him that yes, he'd stay away. He never had the chance, though; Sirius had made the choice for him, because when Albus looked into the room, it was empty.


	57. True Selves

_VIOLENT BREAK-IN SHOCKS NEIGHBOURS!_

_On Friday night, a London family of two were sitting down to dinner when they received a surprise that certainly was not on the menu. An unidentified person forced their way through a side window and is believed to have been searching for valuables, when the victim, Donald Adams (34) heard a noise and went to investigate._

_Mr Adams was shot once in the chest by the intruder and beaten before the intruder fled. "It's just awful," said neighbour Meryl White, "to think that something like this happened just over the fence. It's like nowhere's safe anymore." While 'nowhere' is a gross exaggeration, statistics show that criminal activity in the area is indeed on the rise, with an increase of five percent in the last twelve months._

_Mr Adams was found by his ten year old son, who alerted the police, and is in a serious but stable condition in the Wellington Hospital. John Fisher, from the City Police, encourages anyone with any information about the intruder to come forward. He suggested in his statement at a conference this morning that this crime could be linked to mass-murderer Sirius Black, who escaped early last year, and is believed to be responsible for no less than eight violent trespasses since then._

* * *

When Harry awoke the next morning, he felt well rested - he'd been too tired to dream, even - though rather confused; the bed he was in was smaller and lower than the one he'd used in the Manor, and higher and wider than the one he'd used in the cell. And neither of those had given him a view of a large red splotch on the otherwise white walls.

Frowning he reached for his glasses, and blinked as a large, somewhat faded Gryffindor banner came into focus.

A slow grin spread over his face and he sank back into his pillows, feeling more content than he had in a long time. The house had been empty for a while, but unlike the years Padfoot had spent in Azkaban, Kreacher had actually made the effort to keep things from gathering dust. The room even smelled more or less the same; like home.

His pleasure at that was somewhat dulled, but not completely replaced, by the events of the past few weeks, and he took a moment to sort through some of his stronger emotions. Fear and guilt were probably the most prominent; when that woman had suggested that Moony be put down, something in Harry had snapped. In the past, he'd always had some sort of warning before a bit of accidental magic escaped him, but yesterday, he'd had none; he hadn't even had a chance to grow properly angry before the woman had started to develop horns.

And then there was guilt about Peter. Harry had only been going off of what he'd overheard Snape and Mrs Malfoy saying - which, upon reflection was probably thick of him - and it had certainly yielded the results he was after - a confession from Peter - but Harry thought the traitor's terrified face, and shaking, unwillingly determined voice would be added to the list of things that were seared into his memory; they'd join Padfoot reading Reg's letter in the cave, and his parents coming out of the locket, and his parents' deaths.

Harry'd wanted a confession, sure, but he hadn't expected Peter to be so violently compelled to do it. It hadn't been natural, and it hadn't been fair and Harry was terrified that he'd used some sort of evil spell without realising it.

Getting out of bed wasn't a conscious decision; Harry was halfway to the door before he realised that he was no longer under his covers. He just knew he needed to talk to Padfoot and reacted accordingly. Padfoot's bedroom door was closed, and Harry knocked once, softly, hoping his godfather was awake.

"Yeah?" Padfoot called, in a voice that was barely more than a croak. Harry stepped into the room and found Padfoot and Moony both sitting on the bed - Padfoot was cross-legged against the headboard, and Moony was lying across the end of the bed, staring at Harry.

"Morning," he said.

"Morning," Harry said, pulling the desk chair over. He glanced between both of them and then frowned. "Did you sleep at all?" Padfoot said something but no sound came out. He cleared his throat and tried again.

"Nope," he said, which didn't really surprise Harry. "We had things to discuss."

"What sort of things?" Harry asked.

"All sorts," Padfoot said. He wasn't being evasive - Harry knew if he asked for more information than that, he'd get it - but seemed instead to be giving Harry the chance to talk first. Moony was eyeing the door, as if considering whether to leave them alone to talk. Harry's curiosity overrode his desire to share, however.

"Like what?"

Padfoot looked amused and gestured to Remus, who began to tell him all sorts of things. It was obviously a shortened version of what he'd given Padfoot - it only really took twenty minutes, instead of several hours - but by the end of it, Harry was caught up with everything major that had happened to Moony since his and Padfoot's capture. It seemed, with Greyback's arrest and then death, Moony had been extremely busy.

"Satisfied?" Padfoot asked.

"So his cell was silver?" Harry asked, grimacing. Moony nodded, and Harry shuddered. Greyback was real piece of work as far as Harry'd heard, but still... "And they're looking for whoever-"

"Mad-Eye and Dora have the case," Moony said. "And I haven't really spoken to either of then – properly – for weeks."

"Why not?" Harry asked. Padfoot looked smug, and Moony flushed, but Padfoot also shook his head at Harry, discouraging him from pressing the matter.

"He's thick, that's why," Padfoot said, nudging Moony with his foot. Moony pulled a face at him, and slid off the bed, out of reach. "Oi-"

"I'm going to make tea," Moony said, glancing purposefully between Padfoot and Harry. "Don't hurry down. I'm sure it'll take me a long time to find everything without my wand, and then I'll have to find matches... and then I'll probably have to fight with Kreacher about whether I'm even allowed to be productive in the kitchen..."

"Right," Padfoot said, and Harry gave Moony a part-grateful, part-amused, part-annoyed smile; he wanted to talk, but now he got the distinct impression that he was being forced into doing so, and wondered if Moony and Padfoot had discussed talking and decided that he'd be difficult about it. Moony left, closing the door behind him. "So..." Padfoot said.

"So," Harry said, forsaking his chair in favour of Moony's abandoned place on the bed. Padfoot smiled slightly. They were silent for a few moments. It was a little tense, but not awkward, and not what Harry would call uncomfortable either.

"How was the Manor?" Padfoot asked finally, and Harry relaxed a little. Answering questions was something he could manage; he wasn't very good at volunteering things.

"Strange," Harry said, after considering which word could best describe his experience. "I mean, it wasn't exactly _fun_, but it wasn't awful-"

"What did you think of everyone?"

"I liked Dobby," Harry volunteered. "Their house elf." A look of comprehension dawned over Padfoot's face. "He's a bit mental-"

"Worse than Kreacher?" Padfoot asked, chuckling. Harry rolled his eyes. "Sorry, sorry," Padfoot said.

"-but I still liked him," Harry finished. "Hydrus was a git and Draco was... probably madder than Dobby, to be honest. He's- it's like he's two people." Padfoot looked confused, which made Harry feel a bit better about the whole situation. "Mr Malfoy was nice... I didn't like it." Harry chuckled. "You should have seen his face at breakfast yesterday, though." He proceeded to tell Padfoot about Draco's muggleborn revelation. Padfoot was a bit amused – as Harry'd predicted – but he looked more troubled than anything else. "I told him to ask about you – the white sheep thing."

"I think that's good advice," Padfoot said quietly. He didn't say anything more about Draco, but Harry knew he was still thinking about it. "What was Cissy like?" he asked, abruptly focusing on Harry again.

"Cold," Harry said. "I don't think she liked me much... except she hugged me yesterday, and wished me – or you, I suppose – good luck." Padfoot's eyebrows disappeared into his hair.

"Bloody Cissy," he said.

"What do you-"

"She's up to something... first there was her warning in Diagon Alley, then she asked to have Ma-McKinnon stay at the Manor, then she hugged you, and wished you good luck...?" He shook his head. "People from those blood-supremacy circles are very deliberate people; they don't do anything, without considering every single possible consequence first... What in Merlin's name are you up to?" he murmured, and then shook his head again. "Later." He gave Harry a curious, almost sheepish look. "Do you know where McKinnon is? Whys she wasn't at the-"

"No idea," Harry said, apologetically. Then he remembered something she'd said and added, "Hey, why should I hate her?"

"Hate her?" Padfoot asked, not quite meeting Harry's eyes. "I don't know, kiddo."

"Think," Harry said flatly, not buying it. Part of him hoped Padfoot would lie and say he had no idea – then, Harry would have a good reason not to go into depth about certain questions (he was dreading the ones about his dreams) – but he also wanted Padfoot to trust him, and tell him the truth.

"All right," Padfoot said, and then watched Harry for a moment. Harry stared back, not sure what Padfoot was looking for. "Before you came and joined me in the cell, I had a... visit-"

"From McKinnon?"

"Right," Padfoot said, nodding. "We spoke, and she... erm... attacked me-"

"Your ribs?" Harry asked.

"My- oh, yeah." Padfoot chuckled. "Yeah, that was her fault."

"What stopped her from killing you?"

"What?" Padfoot asked, looking queasy. Harry gave his godfather an uncertain look.

"Well, didn't she hate you? You said, after September, that she'd probably have killed you if you and Moony hadn't run for it. If she was down in your cell, and she'd already broken your ribs, why didn't she just- I mean, why'd she stop?" Harry cocked his head. Padfoot looked calmer now.

"She didn't want me to die," he said eventually. "Not really." Harry waited for more of an answer, but nothing else was offered.

"So then why would I hate-"

"She probably assumed I was upset about the whole thing-"

"Were you?" Harry asked. Padfoot looked surprised by the question, and then smiled a bit.

"Very," he said. He didn't sound it, but there was something sad in his eyes. At a loss of what to say or do, Harry crawled forward and wrapped his arms around Padfoot, who moved to accommodate him. "Thanks, kiddo," he said, ruffling Harry's hair. He seemed amused, but also pleased by Harry's attempt to comfort him.

_Maybe Draco's right about magical hugs._

"Hey, Padfoot?" Harry asked, shifting so that he was no longer hugging his godfather, but was still curled up at his side. Padfoot put an arm around Harry, and stifled a yawn with his other hand.

"Yeah?"

"Do you know much about Kelpies?"

"The water demons?" Padfoot looked wary. "A bit I suppose... it's probably Moony's area of expertise more than mine, though..." Harry nodded thoughtfully, and Padfoot sighed, though he seemed entertained. "Do I even want to know?"

"Probably not," Harry said. "Draco didn't think it was a good thing."

"Hmph," Padfoot said; he obviously didn't think Draco was all that reliable. "Care to tell me what 'it' is?" And so Harry launched into the story about the rat race, and how he'd saved Bosworth from the Kelpie, and Draco's reaction to his newfound ability. Padfoot, however, didn't seize the Kelpie topic as Harry had expected. Instead – startling Harry, who could not see how the two were linked – he said, "What did you do to Peter yesterday, to make him talk?"

"I don't know," Harry said. "It was just a hunch... something I overheard. Snape was talking to Mrs Malfoy, about some sort of debt. He said I could tell Peter to do anything, and that he would. I-" Harry hung his head. "I... don't know what I did, I just thought, maybe, I should try-" Padfoot, oddly, looked relieved.

"He said the word 'debt'?" he asked. "Not you interpreted things that way, but he definitely said the word 'debt'?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure." Harry shifted, feeling nervous all of a sudden. He wanted answers, but at the same time, he was scared of hearing them. "Do you know what it was?"

"You saved a rat from the Kelpie?" Padfoot pressed. Harry nodded. "I think, then, kiddo, that that rat was Peter-"

"He was there the whole time?" Harry asked, aghast. "I thought- his finger, though, and- He was gone."

"What?"

"On the morning of the trial, Hydrus was looking for something. Peter must have made a run for it-"

"It doesn't matter now," Padfoot said, looking amused. "But you saving him does. It would have created a Life Debt between the two of you – that's what happens when one wizard saves another – which explains why he was compelled to obey when you told him to confess... that has to be it!"

"That's a good thing?" Harry asked.

"A very good thing," Padfoot said, still looking relieved. "Better than an accidental Imperius Curse, or some latent compulsion ability. Life Debts basically leave you with... a favour, or sometimes several, depending on how big they are. They only work when one or both parties are aware of the debt, but Peter knew about it because of James and Mad-Eye, and you'd heard enough from Snape to believe it would work."

"It worked a bit too well," Harry said, still feeling guilty, but also slightly better now that he knew he hadn't used anything illegal.

"Ambiguous wording on your part," Padfoot said, shrugging. "A Life Debt..." he said, almost to himself. "It must have been." He suddenly fixed Harry with a very stern look. "Desperate times call for desperate measures, and I appreciate that, but don't – if you can help it – get into the habit of using magic you don't understand, on a hunch." There was something strange in Padfoot's expression, something wary, but also curious. "No powers we know not, all right?"

"All right," Harry said at once. He understood it a bit better now, but what had happened to Peter was still awful enough for him to not be keen to mess around with magic he didn't understand properly. "Promise." Padfoot ruffled his hair. "Does..." Harry hesitated. "Er... does that include Kelpies?"

"Ah, the Kelpie." Padfoot sighed. "You definitely talked to it?" Padfoot scratched his chin and stared down at Harry in a slightly concerned sort of way. Harry sighed and nodded. "I'm not going to lie, kid," he said, with a small smile. "That's... strange."

"I'd sort of worked that much out," Harry said, resigned. "I mean, Draco's about as pureblooded as it's possible to be, and even he seemed... I dunno... worried, or something." Harry let his head fall back against Padfoot's shoulder. "Why me?"

"What do you mean?" Padfoot asked.

"Why couldn't Draco be the one to talk to Kelpies?" Harry asked. "Why does it have to be me? Why am I the one with another secret to keep, and another _stupid_ title that I have to live up-" Harry clamped his mouth shut. He hadn't been planning to talk to Padfoot about this yet – if ever.

"Title?" Padfoot asked.

"It's nothing," Harry said quickly. He tried to get a bit of space, but that wasn't easy with Padfoot's arm draped around him. "I-"

"Harry." And with that, the use of his name – just his first name – with no awe, or expectation, Harry burst into tears.

* * *

"Hey," Sirius said, gathering his godson into a tight hug. "Hey, kiddo, it's all right." Sirius would have felt better if he had even some idea of what had set Harry off, because then he'd have a better chance of fixing it. As it was, he had no clue what he'd done or said – or if it was even him – to earn this sort of response. "Kiddo, it's going to be all right," he said. "We're all safe." Harry sniffed, and glanced up, looking and smelling completely mortified, and wiped his eyes on his sleeve.

"Sorry," he mumbled, as Sirius rubbed his back. "I don't know what-"

"Think," Sirius said in the same, flat voice Harry'd used on him before. Sirius had only given him bits of the truth in response to that, and privately thought he'd be lucky to get even a quarter of that from Harry.

"I guess I'm still tired," Harry said, shrugging.

_Rubbish, _Sirius thought. He didn't voice that thought, but he managed to catch and hold Harry's eyes for a long moment. Harry was the first to look away, and the moment before he did so, Sirius could see the walls going up.

"No," he said, and Harry flinched. Sirius wondered if it was his tone, or if he'd just unwittingly responded to something Harry was thinking. "Don't you do that, with your walls and that 'I'm fine' or 'I'm just tired' rubbish. None of us are fine right now – me included," he added, when Harry's expression closed over. "In fact, I'd be worried if you were."

"I am fine – this is nothing-"

"If you don't want to talk about whatever that was just there, then I won't make you, not until you're ready, but for Merlin's sake, don't try to lie to me." Harry said nothing, but there was guilt mixed in with the other components of his scent now.

"I just want to help," Sirius continued, in a softer voice. "If you're sick of keeping secrets, then you know what the solution is?"

"No," Harry said quietly. He looked interested.

"Telling them," Sirius said. "Not to everyone, obviously, because that'd be thick-" That earned him a reluctant smile. "-but I like to think I'm a pretty trustworthy bloke." Another reluctant smile. Sirius waited, and let Harry take that in.

"Apparently I'm famous," Harry said.

"Apparently? Kiddo, you knew-"

"No, I didn't," Harry said, pushing his glasses up. "Not really. I mean, sure, I saw the papers, and you told me about Voldemort, so I knew, but I didn't- I didn't _know._ I didn't realise that everyone would know my name, or my titles. To you, and Moony and to the Dursleys, I'm always Harry. Just Harry, but now..." He sounded a bit panicky now. "Do you know how many times I had to introduce myself, while we were at the Ministry, or while I was at the Manor?"

"Probably loads," Sirius said.

"Not once," Harry said quietly. "I mean, I did, or I'd have looked like a prat, but I didn't have to, because every already knew. There were so many people I've never seen in my life, and they already knew who I was, and they all... I dunno... expected things. They knew me, Pad-"

"No," Sirius said gently, giving Harry's shoulders a squeeze. "They know Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, or Harry Potter, the Boy Who Disappeared. They know your titles. They know a name from the newspaper, or from the history books-" Harry looked horrified to hear that he was in a book. "-but they don't know you."

"But I am Harry Potter-"

"And I'm Sirius Black, lunatic mass-murderer," Sirius said, with a wry smile. "Although, today I'm 'Siriusly Misunderstood'..." He gestured at the copy of the _Prophet_ Hedwig had brought in earlier that morning, and Harry pulled a face. "They know my name - our names - and they know a bit of what's happened to us-" Actually, they knew a lot about Sirius after yesterday, which he wasn't entirely comfortable with, but he thought it was probably worth it. "-but they don't know _us._ They don't know that I go by Padfoot as much as I do by Sirius, or that I can't stand the smell or taste of chocolate, or that my Patronus is also a dog, or that I hold the record for most detentions ever received at Hogwarts.

"And you know what? You're Harry – just Harry. You're the kid that talks in his sleep and – for some strange reason – likes Kreacher, and that got hopelessly lost the first time he used the Floo." Harry smiled, and edged just a tiny bit closer to Sirius. "To hell with their expectations – I'd rather be your handsome, extraordinarily clever-"

"-modest," Harry added, grinning now.

"-godfather than a murderer, thank you very much."

"So... instead of being the Boy Who Lived I should... die?" Harry asked, looking confused, and a little entertained. Sirius poked him in the side.

"Don't you dare," he growled, making Harry chuckle. "Keep breathing, or so help me, I'll-" Sirius hesitated, trying to think of an appropriate punishment, and Harry made a show of holding his breath. Sirius rolled his eyes and poked Harry again, making him gasp in surprise.

Talking was forgotten after that – Sirius figured it could wait until the afternoon – in favour of a game of 'Bludger', which started in Sirius' room, and quickly spread to the rest of the house. Sirius cheated with Padfoot and Harry cheated with Apparition and tripping jinxes, so it was all reasonably fair.

And, when Remus came to fetch them for tea, almost two hours later, Harry and Sirius ambushed him rather spectacularly on the second floor landing.

* * *

Gawain leaned back in the chair in his office, defeated. It was three in the morning, and he hadn't been to bed yet – he was still searching for his wayward trainee – and he was no closer to finding McKinnon than he had been the day before; after the trial, he had tracked McKinnon from Godric's Hollow to a muggle shopping district, lined with stalls selling everything from jewellery to newspapers. He'd asked around, and everyone remembered seeing a woman with dark hair and eyes at some point, but none of them sounded much like the one he was looking for.

He'd surreptitiously checked the area for any traces of magic – there were none – and then he'd given up there and gone to Azkaban, on the off chance she might have tried to admit herself. None of the guards had seen her – surprising, but not unwelcome news – and so Gawain had headed straight for McKinnon's house. The door had been unlocked, and so he'd let himself in. The house had been empty, but it had been obvious she'd been there – her suitcase, still shrunken, had sat on one of the chairs at her kitchen table. And then, only a few feet away, on the kitchen bench, had rested a small box.

It was that box which sat in front of Gawain now. It had contained two keys, and two pieces of paper. One was paperwork that certified McKinnon's ownership of Number Thirteen, Grimmauld Place, and the other was a letter, addressed to Gawain. It had also contained her wand.

He'd only had the letter in his possession for a few hours, but the parchment was already soft from being handled so many times.

_Gawain, _it said, in McKinnon's usual, neat hand.

_I'm sure by now, Sirius is a free man, and well on his way to settling back into the wizarding world. With any luck, it will be an easy transition... no thanks to me._

_I'm sure, if you had the chance to speak to me, you'd try to talk me out of this, but while I've listened to you in the past, I refuse to even hear your opinion on this matter. What I've done is unforgivable – literally – and I need to atone for that._

_The box contains my house key, and my vault key. Sell my house, and everything in it – I've taken my most prized possessions with me – and add the earnings from that to my vault. Contact Sirius and tell him that he and Harry are entitled to as much money as they need. It cannot begin to compensate for what I've done, but it's a start. Give the rest to St Mungo's._

_Do what you want with my wand. I won't be needing it any more._

_I'm sorry._

_Marlene._

* * *

John Fisher was having a bad day. Things had been bad since he got out of bed and stubbed his toe, and had got progressively worse. The hot water system was playing up at home so he'd had to endure a tepid shower, he'd spilled his coffee on his best shirt at breakfast and had to change it, had had the aglet of his shoelace chewed off by the newest addition to the Fisher household – it was fraying now, something that John, being as neat and orderly as he was, couldn't stand - and had somehow managed to get every red light at every intersection on the way to his daughter's home.

Felicity had been out when he and his wife arrived for lunch, and so John had been forced to put up with Derek – his daughter's lay-about husband – and his stupid guitar for almost an hour, alone. Sue, as usual, was entirely in awe of her son-in-law's apparent skill – John doubted plucking strings on a guitar required any talent, and had said so, many times – and John had done best to ignore the tuneless music blaring from the speakers and had flicked through channels on the telly until his very-pregnant daughter waddled through the door.

Things were bearable after that – John escaped to the kitchen with Felicity, and helped prepare lunch – at least until midway through the meal, when conversation, inevitably, turned to the baby. Now, John was usually happy to talk about his soon-to-arrive grandchild – Anderson, his partner at work, was thoroughly fed up with all things baby – but John did not like the way this conversation was going.

"Do you remember that night a few years back, Officer Fisher?" Derek said, waving his loaded fork around. "With the motorcycle, and the flying car-"

"Hard to forget," John said stiffly. Both he and Anderson had been forced to take a month's leave for mental health reasons following that night, and had been required to sit through weekly therapy sessions even once they were readmitted into the force. John knew what he'd seen, but as far as everyone but his family was concerned, it had never happened; John had been stressed and tired at the time, and had obviously been hallucinating... and so had Anderson. John didn't like people thinking he was crazy, and he was prepared to lie and say he'd imagined it if it stopped the sideways looks.

"Well, remember that name?"

"Elvendork," John growled, and then his stomach sank. "No!" Appealing to his son-in-law was a waste of time, but he was convinced his daughter would see sense. "Felicity, you can't be serious-"

"Oh, but Daddy, it's so unique," she said, and reached out to take Derek's hand.

_Or not, _John thought miserably. Derek grinned like an idiot and nodded, and John cursed the man that had turned his sensible daughter into someone that liked 'unique' things. "But-but _Elvendork?_" he asked weakly. This was his grandchild!

"Ellie for short if it's a girl," Felicity said, smiling.

"And Dork for short if it's a boy," Derek said, and John couldn't for the life of him work out if the man was joking. John sulked for the rest of lunch, and winced every time Sue hissed at him to get over himself.

Needless to say, John was in a foul mood by the time he arrived at work that afternoon. Anderson was investigating the London break-in, so John didn't even have anyone to talk to while he worked through his paperwork.

Then, John's day went from bad, to strange.

"This is him, dear," Julie, the department secretary said, pushing open John's office door. He put his pen down and looked over in time to see a tall, blond woman stepping into the room. The woman pulled a chair over from the corner and settled herself in it, on the other side of John's desk.

"Thank you," she said, nodding at Julie. Julie glanced at John, who nodded, and excused herself.

"How can I help you?" John asked, leaning back in his chair.

"You're in charge around here?" she asked, smoothing the hem of her flowery dress.

"I am," he said, a touch proudly. The smile he received in return was relieved.

"I saw your newspaper article," she told him, clasping her hands in her lap.

"Do you have information?" John asked, grabbing his pen again. He suddenly felt like his day had just got a whole lot better.

"In a sense," she said wryly. She paused, and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. John waited impatiently. "I'd like to confess."

"Confe- I- Pardon?!" John spluttered. "Confess? You?" She nodded, and offered him something that wasn't quite a smile. His hand closed around his gun and she looked amused.

"That won't be necessary," she said. "I've come to be arrested." John didn't release his weapon, but he didn't attempt to subdue her either. Instead, he looked at her, properly. She couldn't have been very old - probably a few years younger than Felicity - and looked like she should be having tea with friends, or sitting in a park with her partner. She didn't look like she was capable of shooting and beating anyone... John's opinion of that changed when he met her eyes for the first time. They were brown, and tired, and... Haunted. Utterly defeated, but there was a bitter sort of hope in them. John's lip curled, and he adjusted his hold on his gun.

"Had a rush of conscience, have you?" he asked.

"I want to go to prison," she said, holding her hands out. She placed them on John's desk, and after a moment, he realised she was waiting for him to handcuff her. John slowly unclipped his cuffs from his belt, watching the woman the entire time. She sat, quite calmly, wrists still on offer.

John secured her first wrist, and then waited for her to fight, or protest. In a state of stunned disbelief, John extracted himself from behind his desk – the woman looked confused for a moment – and then pulled the woman's arms behind her back and affixed the second cuff.

"Thank you," she sniffed, and when John took a look at her face, she was smiling; smiling and crying at the same time.


	58. Picking Up The Pieces

"Come in, Dawlish," Scrimgeour called. John straightened his robes, smoothed his expression, and entered. "Can I help you with something?" Scrimgeour asked, in a rather frosty voice. John didn't meet the Head Auror's eyes. Malfoy's plan to tie Scrimgeour's fate to Black had succeeded, it just hadn't gone the way they'd hoped; with Black proven innocent, Scrimgeour now looked like an excellent judge of character, and held his position more securely than ever. He also appeared to be rather unhappy with John for making the statement about his friendly attitude toward Black.

"Just my report," John said, holding the scroll of parchment up. "On the Dementor incident," he added, when Scrimgeour looked blank.

"Robards gave the case to you?" Scrimgeour looked surprised by that, and John hid a scowl. Robards hadn't given him anything. John had had to ask for it, though Robards was busy enough with his missing person case that he'd handed it right over. Malfoy had instructed John to take over the investigation. Umbridge was behind it, he'd said, and leverage over her was a valuable thing. He'd also said that Fudge must never know.

"Two days after the trial," John said, putting it down on Scrimgeour's desk. Scrimgeour didn't touch it.

"And?"

"And what?" John asked. Scrimgeour rolled his eyes.

"And who did it?" Scrimgeour asked, very patiently.

"Pettigrew." That was John's own idea, because it was almost too easy to frame a man who'd already admitted to trying to kill both of the intended victims. "Didn't want the truth to come out, apparently. Even without evidence, Black's testimony would have made things hard for him."

"I see," Scrimgeour said, in a voice that gave nothing away. "And how did he get the Dementors to help him?"

"He said he had inside help," John said. "He wouldn't give us a name, but I'm looking into that."

"I see," Scrimgeour said again. "Any leads?"

"We think it might be McKinnon, Robards' missing trainee. A source told me that she and Black they have history-" Dawlish silently thanked Malfoy, yet again. "-and since Robards said he found her and Pettigrew together before he brought Pettigrew in... well, it seems logical, doesn't it?"

"Certainly," Scrimgeour murmured.

"It's all in there, anyway," John muttered, waving a hand at his report. Scrimgeour pulled the parchment toward him, looking interested now. "I'll keep you updated on McKinnon."

"Excellent," Scrimgeour said, browsing through. "Thank you, Dawlish."

John left the office and headed straight to the lift, which he took to Level Nine, and then walked down to Level Ten, just to ensure he hadn't been followed. He knocked once on the office door.

"It's John," he called, and a moment later, Umbridge pulled it open and ushered him inside. Dawlish conjured a chair and sat; Umbridge was already situated at the desk.

"Where's Malfoy?" Before she could answer him, however, there was another knock and Malfoy let himself in.

"Sorry I'm late," he said, conjuring himself a chair. "Robards cornered me, wanting a word. I was the last person – other than himself or Pettigrew – to see McKinnon."

"I only just arrived myself," John said, shrugging.

"I've been here for ten minutes," Umbridge said crossly. John muttered an apology, though Malfoy didn't bother.

"So she hasn't been found, yet?" John asked.

"Obviously not. Frankly, she can stay wherever it is she's got to-"

"Then having her as a suspect in the Pettigrew-Dementor case is a bad idea, isn't it?" John said.

"The Pettigrew- the what?" Umbridge asked. John and Malfoy ignored her.

"Shall I-"

"No, leave it," Malfoy told him. "Once that rumour reaches the paper, she'll have an incentive to stay in hiding, and then it's less likely that she'll be found." John didn't know why Malfoy harboured so much dislike for McKinnon, and he knew better than to ask. Everyone had hobbies, after all. "Has there been any news of Black?" he asked, turning to Umbridge.

"Nothing," she said, rather angrily. Malfoy glanced at John, who shook his head as well.

"Bones has her wand in a knot – reckons it's been a week, and that they should have contacted her about the second trial by now."

"And when has Black ever done what he should?" Malfoy drawled. "Thankfully, this works in our favour. Fudge's position is precarious, as you no doubt know, and we need as much time as we can get to build the second case-"

"Second case?" Umbridge said, shrilly. "Don't you think we suffered enough in the first-"

"No serious allegations will be made," Malfoy assured her. "Trying to put him back in Azkaban would be disastrous at this point. No, we just need to make Black look like less of a victim."

"How?" John asked. Malfoy leaned back in his chair and thought for a moment.

"Well, the Animagus charges, for one," Malfoy said. "And we can probably get Lupin on kidnapping charges from St Mungo's. I have my solicitor deconstructing their accounts, and I'm sure she'll find something we can pin on them."

"And what about Cornelius?" Umbridge asked.

"What about him?"

"Well, he's not very popular at the moment," Umbridge said, looking frustrated. John's eyes met Malfoy's for a brief moment, and then they both looked away. They were obviously both thinking the same thing; Fudge was useless, and didn't have the slightest idea how to run the Ministry. Without the three of them whispering ideas into his ears, he'd have crashed and burned a long time ago. Merlin, even with their help he was still doing fairly well at ruining everything.

The only reason they'd kept Fudge around this long was because, as Minister, he could give them things. John was in it for the money, and for a higher rank, and Umbridge wanted the same as John did, but also had some strange affection for their hapless Minister. Malfoy – as far as John could tell - was in it solely because he liked playing puppeteer, and feeling like he was in control.

"There's an understatement," John muttered, and Umbridge glared at him.

"The peoples' faith in him will be restored in time," Malfoy said. "Fudge is hardly an innocent in all of this, but he wasn't in charge when Black was arrested, or when he escaped. I feel the public ought to be reminded of that..."

"They blame him for the Dementor attack in the cells, though," John said.

"If Black hadn't brought it up," Umbridge began, "no one would have known-"

"The Minister managed to convince Scrimgeour to stay quiet about it, but it would have been leaked eventually. Two Aurors were Kissed that night, remember." Umbridge wilted, and Malfoy gave her a pointed look. "Black may have brought it to the public's attention, which is inconvenient, but as far as I'm concerned, the largest inconvenience is that it happened at all."

"Yes," Umbridge said, flushing. "Well. I'm sure-"

"We know it was you," John said.

"Me?" Umbridge squeaked. "No- I- Wherever did you get that idea?"

"We're not all as oblivious as Fudge," Malfoy told her, and she deflated. She had the decency to look embarrassed.

"I had the best intentions when-"

"I'm sure," Malfoy said curtly. "Dawlish has said in his report that Pettigrew was the perpetrator, and it's a perfectly reasonable explanation."

"Yes," she agreed, straightening the horrible bow she wore in her hair. "Perfectly reasonable."

"You got lucky," John told her.

"Very," Malfoy agreed, and Umbridge, who'd been scowling at John, looked chastened. "I'd advise you consult one or both of us before you try anything that foolish again."

"Of course," Umbridge said sweetly, baring her teeth.

"Good. In the meantime, see to it that Fudge gets the support he needs. Your role as Junior Undersecretary makes you well suited for that." In other words, she was to stay close to Fudge, and out of everyone else's way. "Dawlish, keep me informed on anything to do with Black or McKinnon, and try to keep Scrimgeour from poking too many holes in your report." John swallowed his irritation at being told what to do, and nodded. "I'll keep looking for charges to pin on Black, and I'll do what I can to reassign blame and repair Fudge's public image." Malfoy stood and vanished his chair. Dawlish did the same. "With any luck we might get through this."

* * *

_Dora, I'm alive._

Tonks had received that note a week after Remus left the courtroom with Harry and Sirius. It had been delivered by a snowy owl who'd stayed still exactly long enough to let Tonks take the parchment, and then had vanished out the window. It had been a week since then, and Tonks had kept the note on her person the entire time.

She hadn't written back. She was beginning to understand what Remus had meant when he'd said he didn't know what to say, and she was terrified that he'd take her silence for anger, but she didn't really have the words to express what she was feeling; there was anger, of course, and a sense of betrayal, but logically – and it had taken her days to reach the point where she considered logic – if he'd told her the truth, she'd have been honour bound to tell the Auror Department, and that could have been disastrous.

She liked to think that she could have kept a secret, but it was easy to say that upon reflection, and she was fair enough to admit that there was a good chance she would have turned him in. Remus hadn't forced her to choose between her job and her friend, and she was grateful, but also annoyed that he'd made a choice for her. Her feelings were extremely mixed, and she'd been too busy to sort through them properly.

She'd managed to find time to drop by the cottage several times, however, hoping he'd be there, and that they could talk things out. He hadn't been, but she'd run into a Mr Diggory, from the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, who'd given her his office number and told her to send Remus to him when she found him, and she'd also met one wizard who bound her with silver rope.

She'd morphed her way free, Disarmed and Stunned him, and then called Mad-Eye to have the man arrested. Officially it was for attacking an Auror and trespassing, but Tonks' biggest problem with the man was his disgustingly obvious prejudice, and intention to hurt Remus.

Mad-Eye had helped her set up wards – which aligned nicely with the Program's coursework – yesterday, and also a spell to let them know if Remus went home, but so far everything had been quiet.

Everything had been quiet on the McKinnon front too. No official statements had made it to the _Prophet_ yet, but when McKinnon didn't return to the first training session after the trial (when she was officially off of Harry guarding duty), and then missed the ones that followed as well, Tonks, Florence, Ben and Yaxley – who was mentoring under Shacklebolt after what had happened to Louisson - had gone to talk to Robards and he'd explained that she was missing. He'd been very vague about why she'd run off, but Tonks had got the impression that he thought she might have done something stupid, and that he was afraid for her wellbeing.

And, while Yaxley was now well and truly part of their group, Tonks couldn't help but feel that they were losing members; first Melvin, and then McKinnon... she'd known the Program would be difficult, but she'd never imagined that they'd have lost two trainees before the first year was even over.

Tonks cornered Robards for an update every times she saw him, but so far there was nothing. She had, however, managed to get a photograph of McKinnon, which she'd had Dad show on the muggle news; according to Robards, McKinnon had left her wand behind, which made Tonks think she was probably using non-magical methods to hide.

Greyback's murder case wasn't going well either, though she and Mad-Eye had managed to reconstruct the order of events of the night of his death; they knew from Parkinson – one of the guards at Azkaban - that Greyback had been alive and well at four, when Parkinson delivered an early dinner, and that he'd been dead when he was found just after midnight.

Carrow and Jordan had both supplied statements saying Greyback had been shouting and howling from about six onward, and that he'd fallen silent somewhere around eleven. They also knew he'd died of silver poisoning – very slow silver poisoning, because the silver hadn't broken the skin and reached the blood – but the spell that had turned the cell was nothing anyone had ever heard of. It wasn't even registered as a spell, and Mad-Eye had voiced the opinion that someone had created it specifically to kill Greyback.

There'd been a few spots of pale blue magic – according to Mad-Eye, who could see such things with his magical eye – but most of it had faded so much that he hadn't been able to tell if it was sparkly, or ribbony, or misty, or spiky, or anything. Tonks had done research on the matter and found that it wasn't unusual for the traces of transfiguration spells to fade quicker than the traces of other spells, and that was interesting, but not very helpful. The only thing it alluded to was the fact that the killer had either been very lucky, or had obviously planned this to perfection. Tonks was reasonably certain it was the latter.

She yawned and closed the file she'd been looking at; she and Mad-Eye were in a small, boring room in the Department of Magical Records, looking through the descriptions of every living witch, wizard and magical creature's magical signatures, for anything pale blue; everyone who worked at the Ministry was required to submit the information – Tonks remembered the question about the magic that came out of her wand when it chose her, from her Auror interview – and there were also quite a few other members of the wizarding public who had their information recorded; those who'd been admitted to Azkaban had their magical signatures examined and added to a file, and anyone – of any age - who'd ever been admitted to St Mungo's was also on file.

"Aren't we going to be missing an enormous chunk of the population?" Tonks had asked when Mad-Eye'd first brought her down to help him sift through the files. "If all we've got are Ministry employees and people who've gone to Azkaban or St Mungo's, then-"

"This is a murderer we're dealing with. Chances are they've spent a bit of time in prison," Mad-Eye countered. "And if not, they were still able to get in and out undetected and find Greyback, so they must either be in the Ministry, or have Ministry connections. And, if they really did invent the spell that killed him, chances are they've been admitted to St Mungo's for spell damage or something similar."

"Mmph." It made sense, Tonks supposed, but it still seemed like an unnecessarily flawed system. "And they can't just take magical signatures from babies in St Mungo's because...?"

"Not everyone has their kids in the hospital. It would make sense to check them when they're putting the Trace on-"

"-but the Ministry's not that logical?" Tonks suggested, and that earned her a small, amused smile.

"They're not, but that's not the reason. Children don't have magical signatures until they're at least a few weeks old. Magic's there, but it's... dormant. Then, at some point in the kid's first seven years, something will happen and trigger it. If it's not triggered by then, it'll start to fade, and that's when we get squibs."

"Wow," Tonks said, wondering why an old Auror knew so much about magic and its manifestation.

"My mother was one," he said, looking uncomfortable.

"Was?" Tonks asked quietly.

"Grindelwald didn't like squibs any more than he liked muggles. He didn't touch Britain, but France..."

"You lived in France?" Tonks asked, staring at her mentor.

"Shall I tell you my entire life story?" Mad-Eye asked sarcastically, and Tonks cursed herself for interrupting.

"I'm just curious," Tonks said, blushing. Mad-Eye harrumphed and went back to flicking through files. Tonks sighed and went back to her own work.

"My father was a Hit-Wizard," Mad-Eye said, after a moment. Tonks resolutely kept her mouth shut, though she had a thousand questions to ask. "Reckless fool," he growled, almost fondly. "Helped the muggles with their side of things – as good with a gun as he was with a wand... he was away a lot. Protecting my mother fell to me. Constant vigilance, my father used to tell me before he'd go." Mad-Eye harrumphed again, and Tonks bit her lip to keep from saying anything; she'd always thought Mad-Eye's favourite saying bordered on paranoia, but she'd never imagined it was taught behaviour, and not merely learned. It wasn't a habit; it was compulsive.

"One night, when I was eight, my father came home unexpectedly. I was good, but I was tired and young and I didn't realise he was acting strangely. Should've," he said, nodding at Tonks. "Imperius Curse. I saw the other two Unforgivables used that night, both on my mother. My father shot himself afterward." Mad Eye drummed his fingers on the table and glanced at Tonks. "Long story short, Dumbledore found me after the final battle... brought me back here, to my father's relatives." Tonks wiped sad look off her face, but he'd already seen it. He gave her a flat look. "Satisfied, or do you want to hear about my schooling too?" Tonks shook her head; she felt she'd probably pushed her luck enough as it was. Mad-Eye looked uncomfortable.

"So why can you put the Trace on a baby if it doesn't have magic yet?" she asked, giving him a safer topic. Mad-Eye nodded his approval, and then scowled.

"They've always got magic; weren't you listening?!" She winced. "It's just not visible – in any form. The Trace works because it detects magical activity, not the use of the kid's magic. It's a common misconception that the Trace is tied to a person's magic."

"So it's not?"

"I just said that," he grumbled, and they lapsed into silence.

Sorting through the files was tedious work. While the files were grouped by the colour of the magic (or colours), there was nothing to distinguish navy from aqua, and so all the blue files needed to be checked, and sorted. Each file contained nothing more than a name, a date of birth, a sentence describing where the person had been when their magical signature was recorded, and occasionally, a description of the person's wand.

Between them, Tonks and Mad-Eye still had over three hundred blue files to sort through, but already had a list of one hundred and four names of people that had signatures that possibly matched the traces Mad-Eye had seen. Each name would require even more research through other files, and also possibly interviews with the potential suspects, because there was only so much about a person's life that could be found on paper.

_Blue, royal, with gold mixed in. Syrup-like appearance. Sonja Parkinson nee Rosier. May 15th, 1954 – March 12th, 1990- _She sighed and closed it.

She glanced between the three piles Mad-Eye'd made, and tried to remember which was which. She tossed it onto the end one, and reached for a new file. Mad-Eye added another name to the list in his horrendous handwriting; Tonks thought his writing was so awful that anyone who tried to steal anything he'd written by hand, would give up on trying to read it.

"Ahoole Fbowomls?" Tonks asked, struggling with the pronunciation. Mad-Eye scowled, adding a few more lines to the already illegible name. Tonks squinted at it, and then grimaced. He scribbled it out and wrote it carefully, in rather large letters. _Nicole Edwards._

"You think Edwards is a suspect?" Tonks demanded. "She's an Auror trainee; that's ridi-"

"No one's exempt," Mad-Eye said stubbornly, flicking through a few pieces of parchment.

Another hour later, Tonks was beginning to believe him; Burt Bulkes and Florence had been added to the lists – both had pale blue magic – and so had Peter Blackburn, who was a full-fledged Auror. There were other names of course, but those that Tonks recognised stood out.

_No one's exempt, _she thought glumly. While she was reasonably sure it wasn't any of them – particularly not tiny, sleep-in prone Florence – the fact that they were even suspects made Tonks uncomfortable, because there was an element of uncertainty. She'd had enough of not being sure if she could trust her friends. She patted her pocket, where Remus' note was sitting, and pulled the list and a quill over so that she could add _Aislinne Lovegood nee Gamp_ to the list.

* * *

"What are you reading?" Remus asked, from the other side of the library.

"_The Keplie Companion_," Sirius said, while Harry said, "Something Latin. It's boring." Sirius glanced over from his place on the floor, and Harry did the same from the couch. Remus' eyes flicked between them, and he laughed. Sirius looked at Harry, who shrugged.

"What's funny?" Sirius asked, at exactly the same time as his godson. Sirius quirked an eyebrow at him, and Harry pulled a face back.

"You two," Remus said, shaking his head at them both. Sirius grinned and returned his attention to his book, but it seemed the momentary pause had drained Harry's willpower; he snapped his own book shut, and left, saying something about tea.

Sirius smiled without looking up, and called, "You know, if you keep procrastinating, you're going to be my age before you can transform!" Harry peered back around the doorframe, poked his tongue out at Sirius, and left again. Sirius chuckled. "Speaking of procrastinating, though, Moony..." Remus' smile faded, and Sirius marked his page, shut his book and sat up. "We'll have to go back eventually."

"I know," Remus sighed. Sirius had known Remus for a long time, and knew he'd never been one for confrontations – other than duels – but thought he was getting worse as he got older. If Sirius had had his way, they'd have written to Amelia last week and probably would have been completely freed by now. Remus had wanted to wait. First he'd suggested they all recover – which Sirius had agreed was a priority – but he'd been making pitiful excuses ever since. "It's just... the full moon's only two nights away, and I want to wait until that's out of the way-"

"Yeah, all right..." Sirius said. He thought it was fair enough, but suspected Remus would have found another excuse if the full moon hadn't been available. They sat in silence for a moment – Remus stared out the window, while Sirius stared at Remus – and then Sirius said, "Do you not want to go home? Is that it?" Remus hadn't gone home once; clothes, and anything else he'd needed had been fetched by Kreacher the night after the trial.

"You haven't been out much either," Remus said. Sirius noticed he hadn't even attempted to answer the question.

"We went to see Keira," Sirius pointed out. They'd found the locket was still, unfortunately, in one piece, but Keira'd kept it safe the whole time, which was a relief. Sirius didn't know what he would have done if the Ministry had managed to get their hands on it. And, all things locket-related aside, seeing Keira had been nice too. "And we went flying-"

"I went with you-"

"Reluctantly," Sirius said. There was a CRACK and Kreacher appeared holding a tea tray in one scrawny hand, and Harry's arm with the other.

"I could have walked, you know," Harry said, sounding a little annoyed, and a little amused all at once; Kreacher had struggled with being separated from them. He hadn't resorted back to taking orders from the portraits in his cupboard, thankfully, but he seemed to think that Harry and Sirius were going to disappear if he took his eyes off them for more than a few hours; when they settled in a room, he'd come to check on them at regular intervals, and if they were moving around the house, he'd either follow them, or take them to their destination, as if he was frightened they might get lost.

The strangest behaviour he'd exhibited, however, was watching them sleep; for the first three nights, Kreacher had woken every hour to check on Harry. Sirius had thought it was a little sweet and a little creepy, but above all, funny... at least until he'd woken to find Kreacher standing beside _his_ bed. He'd put a stop to that there and then, and thankfully it hadn't been a problem since.

"Tea for Master?" Kreacher asked, lifting his hand. The ring on his bony finger glinted; Kreacher had taken to wearing the ring with the Black family crest on it while they were away.

Sirius caught Remus' eye to let him know that their discussion was not over, and merely postponed, and then accepted a cup and a slice of cake from Kreacher.

* * *

"So Harry Potter lived _here?_" Astoria asked, looking around with reverence. Draco thought she probably half-expected Potter to wander in and sit down next to her.

"Don't you read the papers?" Pansy snapped. Draco watched her carefully; he hadn't seen her in about a month, but in that time, she seemed to have recovered most of her usual bold, rather provocative nature. It was a nice change from the teary, waspish Pansy he'd known after Mrs Parkinson's death. She'd been spending most of her nights with the Shafiqs, while Mr Parkinson worked, and it seemed to have done her some good. "Surely a soon-to-be weak- I mean, Ravenclaw – like you should do boring things like that."

Usually Theodore would have come to Astoria's defence, but Catherine had decided she was four and therefore old enough to sit with the rest of them, and Theodore's attention was entirely occupied. Vivienne, Daphne and Millicent were talking to themselves and had also missed the exchange, so they weren't going to help, and no one else had the inclination.

"I'm impressed you even know what the paper is, Pansy," Astoria shot back. She sounded a bit like Daphne for a moment. "And even more impressed that you know that you're supposed to read it." Draco stabbed a roast carrot, and glanced between them, not at all impressed with the seating arrangements. He'd much prefer being trapped beside Millicent, than between these two. Pansy looked stunned that Astoria had actually had a retort, and could only gape. "I mean," Astoria continued, "we all know you're no Ravenclaw, but maybe we ought to give you a bit more credit."

Hydrus made a delighted sound a little further down; he, Crabbe, Goyle and Nadia were all watching the exchange with interest. Draco caught Nadia's eye and frowned, wondering why she hadn't come to her cousin's aid. She just smirked at him.

"Stop it," Draco said, looking back to Astoria and Pansy. The latter was almost in tears, and the other looked quite pleased with herself. Draco wondered what had gotten into her; usually, Astoria never bothered with arguments, and never sought to actually hurt people.

"Stop it?" Astoria repeated, with a somewhat curious, somewhat mocking glance at Draco. "No witty intervention, or blackmail, just 'stop it'? Really, Draco?"

"And you call me a Hufflpuff," Daphne said, laughing at him. It seemed she'd heard the last part of the conversation, and that it had caught her interest. Draco flushed and set his fork down rather loudly.

"I am _not_ a Hufflepuff!" he snapped. Mother glanced down from the adult end of the table, but Draco ignored her.

"You seem a little defensive," Daphne said. Astoria watched her big sister with a shrewd expression, and something told Draco that this was where she'd learned her nastiness.

"I am not!" Draco said, without thinking. None of the others seemed to know what to make of his useless, hasty response. _Draco_ wasn't even sure what to make of it; it was practically suicide to say anything without thinking at this sort of function. "I'm cunning," he said haughtily, trying to recover himself. "And I have ambitions-"

"Yes, to get into Hufflepuff!" Draco frowned at Pansy; he was in this mess because he'd come to her defence, and she'd turned on him in thanks.

Nadia and Daphne laughed appreciatively, and so did Astoria after a moment's pause. Vivienne was watching her twin rather unhappily. Theodore was still occupied, and Millicent was also watching Catherine. Hydrus looked angry and embarrassed. No one was going to help Draco, and that realisation hurt.

_Potter would have, _he thought, glowering at his peers.

"-House of duffers!" Pansy continued, and let out a shriek of laughter. Daphne reached across and slid Draco's plate away from him. He reached for it, and she shook her head.

"Uh uh," she said. "Badgers don't like meat." Pansy giggled and threw a piece of lettuce at him. "Oh, that's good, Parkinson. Feed the badger his greens." They laughed. All of them. Draco thought, rather miserably, that this was the worst birthday ever.

"Give Draco his plate back before I tell my father," Hydrus said coldly. Both Daphne and Pansy froze, and Astoria passed Draco his dinner with a rather timid expression. "Better," Hydrus said curtly. "If you'd excuse us..." Hydrus stood and came to stand beside Draco. "Get up." Draco, too shocked to argue, stood.

Behind them, Pansy called, "Oh, he needs a hug!" Hydrus's face was entirely impassive, at least until they were out in the corridor.

"Wha-"

"What do you think you're doing?" Hydrus looked absolutely furious.

"I-"

"'Stop it'?! _Are _you a Hufflepuff?"

"_No_!"

"Then why didn't you tell them about when Pansy cried?" Hydrus demanded. "You know how this all works."

_If they target you, point out someone who's done something worse, _Draco thought. "I can't do that to Pansy-"

"Oh Merlin, you really are a Hufflepuff!" Hydrus moaned.

"Shut up!" Draco said. "I'm not!"

"Then do it," Hydrus said, suddenly cold again. "She can handle herself, and you need to make up for embarrassing yourself. You're a Malfoy, and they need to remember that." He paused, thinking. "And things have been strange between Daphne and Astoria all night, so if we get Astoria on our side, we can put Daphne back in her place too-"

Draco stalked off without another word. Father had sat him and Hydrus down after Potter left to talk to them about muggleborns, and about how they were inferior. Draco had followed Potter's advice – partially, anyway, because he still hadn't asked Mother about the white sheep - and gone along with it, but he'd questioned Severus on the matter when he next saw him, and had believed the answers he received there more than he had believed Father's.

Draco had been very careful to keep his opinions to himself, but Hydrus had been obsessed with the idea of rightful places ever since. Father had encouraged that by buying Hydrus a new rat to replace Bosworth; Feta was sleek, black, magical, and treated with far higher regard Roquefort. Feta was permitted to go everywhere with Hydrus - but she had to stay in his pocket during meals or formal occasions – while Roquefort had to stay locked in his cage while Draco was involved in any sort of event. Draco didn't think it was fair.

"Where are you going?" Hydrus demanded. "You have to go back-"

"I'll be in my room," Draco said.

"I'll tell Father-"

"Go ahead," Draco told him.

It wasn't Father who came to find him later, however. It was Mother. She swept into the room, and Draco had expected a lot of expressions – irritation, disappointment, or maybe just a cold mask – but he had not expected sadness, which is what he'd got.

"I'm sorry, Draco," she said, coming to sit behind him on the bed.

"It's not your fault, Mother," he said, and she made an odd noise and pulled him into a hug. "I'm just not a very good Malfoy." She didn't say anything, and Draco's heart sank, because that probably meant she agreed with him. "I used to be, but now... I'm different, aren't I?" He knew it, and everyone in the dining room knew it. Mother probably knew it too; again, she said nothing. "I'm sorry," he said.

"You don't have anything to apologise for," Mother said, stroking his hair. "Nothing at all, do you understand me?"

"Not really," Draco said. "I mean, it's my fault that I'm different, not anyone else's, so I should be the one apologising-"

"It's not your fault-"

"It is," Draco said.

"No-"

"It's all right, Mother," Draco said. He wanted to cry, but he'd already embarrassed himself enough tonight without adding tears to it. Instead, he drew himself up, and smiled sadly. "No one _made_ me different, it just... happened. I can take responsibility for that."

"Oh, Draco," Mother whispered. Then, shockingly, she started to cry. Draco had seen her sad before, and he'd seen her get weepy to get her own way, but he'd never seen her cry like this. Never properly.

_And I caused it, _he thought, feeling awful. _She's probably so ashamed of me right now... _He had no idea what to do, but hugs were nice, so he went with that. Mother stiffened and Draco patted her back until she relaxed.

"I'm sorry, Mother," he said, and she cried all the harder.

* * *

**I'm afraid it's finally happened: I've run out of prewritten chapters. :S The story WILL continue, but at a slightly slower rate after tomorrow; tomorrow's chapter will go up about 12 hours later than usual, and after that, chapters will be posted weekly (every Wednesday). :)**

**Sorry about this, and thank you all for your support so far!**

**MarauderLover7.**


	59. Weasleys And Werewolves

_He was cold. Cold and damp . And tired, because Wormtail'd been thinking about a lot lately, and rats were clever creatures, but they didn't have an incredibly high emotional capacity, which made things hard to sort through. He shivered, trying not to think about the explosion and all the people he'd killed, or the pain from cutting off his finger. He tried not to think about Sirius, who was rotting in Azkaban, or Remus, who was probably miserable. He tried not to think about himself, who was going to have to live with the Weasleys for the foreseeable future. _

_He'd needed a wizarding family – one that wouldn't drown him on sight – and one that wouldn't recognise him or talk to anyone that might. It had been a choice between the Weasleys and the Lovegoods in the end, and he'd opted for the former, and tried not to feel too sorry for himself. He felt bad for Lily and James, but it hadn't been anything personal, and he thought death was a kinder fate than what the rest of them – the remaining Marauders - would have to live with._

_He shivered and the small, warm hands around him clenched. He wriggled. He wanted to bite the boy holding him, but the boy had good intentions. He was just a little rough. Wormtail could deal with that if it meant getting inside, however; he was cold and wet and tired and his paw was aching. He'd used his Master's wand to heal his hand, but he didn't know any spells to stop the aches. Sirius and James had always given Remus potions for that, and Peter didn't know how to make them._

_"Fred, George!" the boy holding him said. "I'm going inside." Inside sounded wonderful, and Peter urged the boy to head there at once, with a weary squeak._

_"Bye!" a young, cheery voice called. Wormtail supposed it belonged to either Fred or George._

_"Yeah," said another, almost identical voice; presumably it was the other one. "Bye."_

_"Bye, Percy!" said the first voice. Wormtail, oddly, was reminded of two other boys he'd known; boys with dark hair, though, not red. He sighed – or squeaked, really._

_"No," Wormtail's saviour - Percy - huffed. "If I go in, you have to as well. Mother says you're not old enough to play outside by yourselves."_

_"Are too!"_

_"Are not!" Percy said crossly. Wormtail was shifted to Percy's other hand – surprisingly gently, this time – and then his world shook as Percy ran a few steps. Then Percy staggered, and then he surged forward; he had his hand around one of the younger boys' wrists, and was pulling him toward the house._

_"Let go!" the younger boy cried. "We'll be good, I promise!"_

_"Liar," Percy said, sounding angry, and continued to lead him. The other one – the one Percy wasn't holding – followed, as if unable to be separated from his brother. Or twin? Wormtail thought they looked awfully similar. "You're never good and it's always my fault when you get in trouble." Wormtail thought Percy was being a little harsh on his brothers; they couldn't have been much older than four. Percy himself could only have been six or seven._

_"What's in your hand?" the free-walking boy asked._

_"A rat," Percy said, abruptly cheerful again._

_"Can we see?" Fred and George asked at the same time, sounding thrilled._

_"No," Percy said. "He's cold."_

_"Please," one of them whined._

_"We want to see," said the other._

_"No," Percy said angrily. "He's mine." They reached the door, and then Percy released the brother he'd been holding and both of them raced into the house, leaving a trail of muddy footprints in their wake. They descended on a bowl of fruit on a large table._

_"Percy, is Ron with you?"a woman asked, turning to look over the back of a couch on the far left of the room. There was a noise – the sound of a young child (probably younger than Harry, even) being sick – and the woman – presumably Percy's mother – looked down. There was obviously a child in her arms, or beside her on the couch. "Oh, Ginny," she said._

_"Is Ginny being sick?" one of the boys asked, sounding torn between concern and delight._

_"Cool!" exclaimed the other, and Wormtail was reminded of Sirius. _

_"It's not 'cool!" their mother snapped, and both boys looked appropriately chastened. "Don't you remember how awful you felt when you were sick? And she's nowhere near as big and strong as you are." Both looked stricken and went to peer over the back of the couch. "Ron, Percy?"_

_"I don't know," Percy said promptly. "But I found a rat, Mum, look-" He stepped forward, holding Wormtail out toward his mother._

_"That's nice, dear," she said, distractedly; and fair enough, because Ginny had just started to retch again._

_"He's sick too, I think-"_

_"Oh, well, tell Charlie to have a look at him," she said, without looking up. Wormtail smelled Percy's disappointment, and felt his arm drop a few inches, as his shoulder slumped. Percy carried Wormtail toward the stairs and his mother's voice followed him: "Check if Ron's with Charlie, won't you, dear?"_

_"Charlie will know what to do," Percy assured Wormtail with a pat on the head that rattled Wormtail's brains. He squeaked once, to express his pain, but Percy seemed to take it as encouragement and patted him again, rather clumsily. "Charlie?" he called, knocking on a door on the first floor landing._

_The door opened to reveal another red-haired boy – Wormtail had know the Weasleys had a lot of sons, but this, frankly, was ridiculous – who had a small, laughing figure slung over one shoulder._

_"What, Perce?" the boy – Charlie – sighed, looking annoyed. Wormtail was getting the impression that Percy wasn't very popular with his siblings. The kid over Charlie's shoulder squealed something incoherent and he chuckled and relocated the child – Ron? - to his arms. Ron squirmed for a bit, and then spotted Wormtail and settled so that he could watch him. "Where'd you find him?" Charlie asked, shifting Ron to his hip. He held out a hand for Wormtail to sniff, and Wormtail obliged._

_"In the garden," Percy said. "I almost stepped on him. He's friendly, though, look!" He patted Wormtail's head again._

_"Gentle," Charlie warned, and Wormtail squeaked a thanks, deciding that if Fred and George were like James and Sirius, then Charlie – the kind, gentle Weasley – was like Remus._

_"Is he sick?" Percy asked. "He's shaking."_

_"Sorry, Ron," Charlie said, setting him down. Ron toddled forward, reaching for Wormtail but Percy – thankfully – moved him out of reach. "Put him on the desk," Charlie said, rummaging through his bedside table. "There's newspaper over there." Percy set Wormtail down – as Charlie had instructed – and Wormtail almost jumped out of his fur. Of all of the papers that he could have used, it was a copy of the _Prophet_; one with Sirius' snarling face smeared across it. _

A BLACK AFFAIR_, the title said, and went on to detail Sirius' supposed betrayal of Lily and James, and also his role in Peter's death, and those of the muggles in the street. _

_Only Peter wasn't dead. He was alive._

_He'd survived, yes, but it had been costly. His self-esteem told him his life wasn't worth his friends', and his heart wondered if it was worth surviving if he had no friends to share his life with. Peter let out a distressed squeak and trembled again, supposing time would tell. It had been necessary._

_Hadn't it?_

_"He seems a bit stressed," Charlie said, gently nudging Ron out of the way. The three of them peered at Wormtail, who shifted under the scrutiny._

_"He's missing a toe," Percy said. Wormtail's heart raced, and he did his best to cover as much of the article he was sitting on as possible._

_"Huh," was all Charlie said, however, and Wormtail relaxed a bit. "So are you going to keep him, Perce?"_

_"Yes, I'd like to," Percy said happily, and Peter's heart sank. He could have gone to Charlie – who was like Remus – or Fred and George – who were like Sirius and James – but instead he was going to Percy. Percy, the apparent outcast, Percy, the one who was overlooked in favour of his more interesting friends – or in his case, siblings. Percy, who was like Peter._

_And Wormtail couldn't decide if he hated Percy for that, or if he liked him for it. He shifted, trying very hard not to look at Sirius' face, but eventually, his eyes drifted back to it._

_"Death would have been kinder," the photograph said, startling Peter. His voice echoed through Bill and Charlie's room, and the pale walls turned grey, and the desk beneath Wormtail's paws turned to cold stone._

And then it was Peter, not Wormtail, and he was in his cell in Azkaban. He didn't have any of the Weasley boys and he didn't have the ability to transform. Everything was different; the only thing that wasn't was that Peter was just as cold and damp now as he had been the afternoon Percy found him.

* * *

_Please let it be over, please let it be over, please..._

Tonks crossed her fingers as she stumbled out of the fireplace and into Remus' cottage. Apparating outside and then walking to the door would have been politer, but at six in the morning after a full moon... well, she trusted Remus, but she'd also read enough to not want to test his control when he was a wolf.

Someone swore, drawing her attention. Remus was coming in through the front door on the other side of the room, wearing nothing but a thin pair of pyjama pants, and several bruises. He wasn't alone, however. Tonks cursed herself for being so stupid; after everything that had been revealed at the trial, and the fact that Remus had obviously been hiding out with Sirius since, she should have expected to see Sirius this morning. And yet, she hadn't spared him a thought.

Sirius Black, ex-mass-murderer, adjusted his grip on Remus – who Tonks could see was not actually moving on his own – and gave Tonks a nervous, semi-defiant stare, and waited to see what she'd do.

"Wotcher," she said, and her voice caught.

"Hello," Sirius said quietly, in a voice that gave nothing away. His eyes darted to the fireplace, and then to the door he'd just come through. They stared at each other a moment longer, and then he grimaced and moved forward, very slowly, to deposit Remus on the too-small couch.

"Is he all right?" Tonks asked, stepping forward.

"Don't," Sirius said, holding up a hand. Tonks stopped. "He's still a bit... erm... wolfy." Tonks stared at Remus, who looked a little battered, but perfectly human. "In his head," Sirius added. "He transformed about five minutes ago, but it takes a while for it to wear off. If he smells you, things might get tricky."

"Oh," she said. "Why can you-"

"I still smell like a dog," Sirius said, flashing her a strained smile. "Or enough like one that it doesn't trigger anything." His eyes flicked around the room, as if he was looking for some way out. "What are you doing here?" he asked. Tonks' eyes flicked to Remus, and for a moment, there was a very familiar smile on Sirius' face. It was the same one Harry had worn when she'd met him in Bones' office.

"I came to see Remus," she said unnecessarily. "I knew he was here, so-"

"Knew? How?" Sirius asked sharply. Tonks flushed.

"A spell," she said. "Mad-Eye helped me set it up." Sirius' mouth twitched at that. He eyed the Floo and then sighed.

"Can I get you anything? Breakfast? Tea?"

"Oh, er, no, I'm fine," Tonks said. Sirius nodded awkwardly. "Thanks, though." He shrugged. On the couch, Remus growled and rolled over. He'd have fallen off, but by the time Tonks could even make a surprised noise, Sirius had already caught him and readjusted him. "You've done that a few times," Tonks said.

"A few," Sirius agreed, releasing Remus' ankles. He grabbed a pillow and put it under Remus' head and then watched him for a moment. Tonks watched too, and couldn't help but think how much better Remus looked, when compared with last full moon. She couldn't see any serious scratches on him – just a few small ones on his shoulders and arms - though his ribs bore some fairly nasty bruises.

They lapsed into an uncomfortable silence again. Tonks examined Remus from a safe distance, trying to determine the extent of the damage, and Sirius retrieved a rucksack from the corner and started pulling bottles out of it. Tonks recognised Dittany, but none of the others. Sirius also pulled out a wand.

"Where did you-"

"It's James'," Sirius said, without looking up. Tonks pursed her lips, and Sirius seemed to sense that, because he looked a little sheepish as he waved James Potter's wand. Remus' cuts knitted together, and Tonks' disapproval gave way to reluctant awe. Remus made another sound, this one more like a mumble than a growl, as Sirius healed his bruises too.

"You've done that a few times, as well," she said, sitting down in one of the armchairs. Sirius glanced at her, but didn't say anything. Remus woke a few minutes later, and seemed incredibly disoriented. Sirius talked to him – and seemed a little self-conscious about it, if the sideways looks he kept sneaking in Tonks' direction were any indication – asking him what hurt, and how he felt, and whether he needed anything right away.

All he got in response were various grunts, moans and jumbled attempts at speaking, but it seemed to make perfect sense to Sirius, who chuckled and offered Remus potions from his rather impressive, mobile collection. Tonks just watched the two of them. Sirius was a mystery to her. She'd known him once, a long time ago, but the man in front of her was very different to the Sirius she remembered. He was even a little different to the Sirius she'd seen while she was on guard duty in the Ministry.

The Sirius from her childhood had been loud and perpetually laughing, while this one was quiet and rather serious – though admittedly, that could have been because of the long night he'd had. And, while he was confident with the way he treated Remus, he seemed unsure of what to make of Tonks, now that she was no longer his guard. This man was careful, which was not a trait she'd ever expected to assign to him.

And Remus... even Remus was different. His personality was the same, and he looked the same – he _was_ the same, really – but she hadn't guessed that he'd stand up to witness for Sirius at the trial, so she obviously hadn't known him as well as she'd thought. She had a lot more to learn about her friend.

Sirius flicked James' wand once more and then tucked it back into his robes. Tonks was vaguely aware of him moving, but her attention was mostly focused on Remus, who'd suddenly gone very still; his bleary brown eyes had found Tonks, and she gave him a tentative smile. He didn't smile back. In fact, he paled and looked away.

"Padfoot," he said in a hoarse, rather urgent voice. "Sirius." Sirius gave Tonks a shrewd glance, and then looked back at Remus, his mouth pulling up at the corners. It was a perfectly pleasant smile, but there was something decidedly shrewd about it, and it made Tonks nervous. Remus made a sniffing noise, and Sirius' smile widened. "No," Remus said. He glanced sideways at Tonks again, and then lurched to his feet. Sirius was ready to catch him – Tonks could tell from the way he'd tensed – but he also looked a little defiant.

"Sit down before you hurt yourself, you idiot," Sirius said.

"Don't treat me like a baby," Remus said, sounding peevish. Tonks got the impression she'd missed something – a gesture, a scent, an expression, something – because Remus was more irritated than the situation merited.

"Don't act like one," Sirius shot back. Then he arched an eyebrow, as if daring Remus to argue. Remus growled and took an unsteady step toward the fireplace, and then seemed to realise how far away it was and gave up. He didn't sit, however, and he didn't look at Tonks. Instead, he just glared at Sirius, as if something bad had happened and it was Sirius' fault. Sirius smirked back.

Tonks, feeling more and more like she was missing something, and more and more like she was intruding on this moment between friends, got to her feet. Both mens' eyes latched onto her.

"Obviously it's a bad time for me to have come-"

"Yes," Remus said flatly.

"_No,_" Sirius said, with considerable conviction.

"_Sirius_," Remus said, and it was practically a whine. Tonks felt her cheeks heat up. It was obvious Remus didn't want her there, and, while she could understand that – she'd ignored him for weeks – it also hurt because she'd been willing to talk to him when he was the one ignoring her. She'd at least been willing to _try._

"Oh, for the love of..." Sirius trailed off, scowling, and grabbed a pillow off the nearest armchair, which he threw – with considerable force – at Remus. It his him square in the chest, and was enough to knock him back onto the couch, where he sat, gasping.

"Careful!" Tonks snapped, but Sirius either didn't hear her, or didn't care.

"Right," Sirius said, looking rather stern, "right." He picked up his healing equipment and stuffed it back into his rucksack. "I'm going home –_alone_ – and you're welcome to come back when you've had your chat."

"Sirius," Remus snapped, getting up again. "I need to rest-" Sirius opened his mouth to say something else, and then glanced at Tonks and closed it. She shifted, feeling – once again – like she was intruding on something. Sirius exhaled loudly – and angrily – and then stepped forward and draped Remus' arm over his shoulder. Remus looked acutely relieved, and Tonks felt a little lost. Sirius didn't help Remus to the fireplace, however; he hauled him toward the hallway.

"Sorry about him," Sirius said grimly.

"Sirius?" Remus said, sounding genuinely bewildered. "The Floo's over that way." He twisted and caught Tonks' eye, and she was fairly certain he was silently asking for help. She shrugged; she didn't have enough of a grasp on the situation to know how to help, and so she just let Sirius drag him into the other part of the cottage.

* * *

"So window?" Remus managed, as he staggered along beside Sirius. Everything hurt, and his head was throbbing. Sirius rolled his eyes and didn't say anything until they reached Remus' bedroom. Sirius then dumped him on the bed, rather unceremoniously, and kicked the door closed. Sirius didn't go to the window, however. He stood there, looking torn between furious, helpless, and amused. Remus tried to move into a more comfortable position, but gave up almost immediately, because it required effort he didn't feel like expending. "Padfoot-"

"If you weren't still recovering, I would hex you," Sirius told him. Remus made a questioning sound. "Three weeks," Sirius said, confusing Remus even more. "Three bloody weeks of listening to rubbish excuses, of putting off complete freedom, just because of your bloody inferiority complex?!"

Sirius wasn't speaking too loudly – Dora probably wouldn't be able to hear him - but he was still loud enough to make Remus wince.

"Now," Sirius continued, shooting Remus an exasperated look, "if you were worried about the Ministry, I'd understand. What you did for me during the trial, when you told them about... about Moony... that was enormous." Remus didn't contradict him, because it had been. He didn't regret it, but a large part of him wished it hadn't been necessary. "And I know the Ministry isn't exactly prejudice-free-" Remus snorted. "-so I could have understood wanting to hide from them."

"Good," Remus said.

"But that's not what this is about," Sirius said, giving Remus another stern look. It was a look that Remus had given Sirius – and James – many times over the years, and he wondered if it had made them want to hide as well. Remus eyed his blankets and considered trying to burrow, but he suspected Sirius would just drag him out again. "I smelled you when you spotted Dora." Sirius cocked his head. "It's her you've been putting off seeing."

"No," Remus lied.

"Yes," Sirius said. "Merlin knows why; from what you've told me, the two of you are close. I'd expected you to be pleased that she was here, not to want me to smuggle you out the window."

"Were," Remus said. "Were close. She hat-"

"She obviously doesn't hate you, or she wouldn't be sitting in your living room." Remus had a very good argument about why that wasn't true, but he couldn't for the life of him remember what it was.

"I betrayed h-"

"No one forced you to do anything," Sirius said, rather coolly, and it occurred to Remus too late that he'd probably offended him. He forced his fuzzy head to think of something to say before he ruined another friendship, but nothing came to mind. "You helped me – and I've already said how incredibly grateful I am about that – because you _chose_ to. You didn't have a problem with it during the trial, but then you spend almost a month hiding in my house because you're scared what'll happen if you try to justify your choice to Dora...? I mean, really?" Remus glowered at him, because everything sounded stupid when Sirius put it like that. "What are you afraid of?"

"She won't understand," Remus said.

"Or maybe you don't want her to."

"Don't be ridiculous," Remus said. "You don't know-"

"I'm the ridiculous one?" Sirius demanded. Remus eyed his covers again. "And I don't _know?_ I think I've got more of an idea about this that you do, Moony! I think that you don't want to talk to her because you know the two of you will be able to fix this little misunderstanding. And I think that scares you, because you know that eventually, that's going to lead to other conversations, and other situations, ones like last full moon-"

"No," Remus said.

"And you still – for reasons I can't understand – still don't think that you deserve that sort of openness, and you think that she can do better than you-"

"She can. I'm a bad friend."

"Bad friends," Sirius snapped, "don't stand up in front of half the wizarding world and tell their biggest secret to help their other friends." Remus didn't have anything to say to that.

"You're wrong," Remus said, when he'd thought of something. "We're talking openly now, and I'm not pushing you away."

"If your friendship is such a bad thing to have, then why do I deserve it, and why does Matt? Either you think pretty poorly of the pair of us-" Remus made a noise of protest. "-or it's not your _friendship_ with Dora that you're worried about, you git."

Sirius gave him a look that was obviously supposed to mean something, but Remus wasn't following. Sirius threw his hands up in the air and paced in front of the door. Remus shut his eyes, because it was making him dizzy. Finally, Sirius spoke again.

"You know what, you're right. Obviously I'm imagining things, and you, as you've pointed out, are obviously not afraid of talking openly, so you obviously don't have a problem with Dora."

"Exactly," Remus said, pleased. Sirius gave him a patronising look.

"Exactly," Sirius agreed, rolling his eyes. "So you're not going to have any problems sorting things out with her, are you? 'Cause you're _friends_and everything, right?" Remus frowned, realising too late where this was going.

"No, wait-" Sirius pulled the door open and headed off down the hall. "Padfoot!" Remus heard Sirius say something to Dora and then heard the Floo whoosh. Remus heaved himself to his feet. Surely Sirius hadn't left him there? Surely Sirius had been a good friend and sent Dora home? He hobbled down the hall, using the wall as support. The living room was empty but for Dora, who was hovering over the armchair, apparently trying to decide whether to sit down or stay standing. Her expression brightened at the sight of Remus, who scowled and looked at the fireplace.

"Remus?" Dora said tentatively.

"That miserable, traitorous git," Remus grumbled. "He left, didn't he?" She nodded. He groaned and flopped face first onto the couch. "Next time, remind me just to leave him to the Dementors," he told her, his voice muffled by the fabric. "It'll serve him right for leaving me here when I'm sore and tired."

Dora laughed, and Remus, who'd expected shouting, or her to ignore him altogether, glanced up at her. She hastily smoothed her expression – literally, as in, she made her eyes, nose and mouth vanish – and then Remus snorted, so surprised that he couldn't help himself.

"So you're anticipating a next time?" she asked, when her face was normal again.

"Have you met him?" Remus asked, tilting his head toward the fireplace. Dora smiled again. "There will definitely be a next time."

"He's different than I remember," Dora offered. "Older."

"Harry's been good for him. They've been good for each other, really," Remus said. Then he scowled. "But he's still a git."

"And you're still leaving him to the Dementors, right?" Dora asked, looking amused.

"Exactly," Remus agreed. They looked at each other and smiled. Remus felt his smile vanish. "Dora, I can't even begin to apologise-" Dora came to perch on the side of the couch.

"It's all right," she said. She didn't smell angry, and so Remus – who'd been expecting her to shout that no, he couldn't even begin – was a little confused. "There's fault on both sides, I think."

"But mostly mine."

"Mostly yours," she agreed, with a small smile, then she shook her head. "Can we not get into this? I'm a bit annoyed, but I know why you lied, and I probably would have done the same thing if the situation was reversed. I'm sorry and you're sorry, all right?" Remus' mouth twitched, but he fought to keep a straight face.

"It's not that simple-"

"It is," Dora said, folding her arms. Her hair started to turn orange, which Remus knew meant that she was getting annoyed. "Why shouldn't it be?"

"Because," Remus said lamely. This morning had not been kind to him; people were taking advantage of the fact that he was having trouble forming coherent arguments.

"Well argued," she said, rolling her eyes. "I think it is that simple," she said, and Remus got the impression that that was it, and gave in with rather ill grace. She grinned, apparently sensing that she'd won, and leaned over to hug him.

Remus hugged her back, and, while he got the impression he should be upset that he hadn't won the argument, he wasn't sure how being on friendly terms with Dora again was in any way a loss. He shook his head and gave up.

_Ha!_ he thought. _Sirius obviously has no idea what he was talking about._

* * *

Tonks made her usual stop at Robards' cubicle on her way to training. She still hadn't worked out why he had a cubicle, when Mad-Eye and Dawlish – who were equally as senior as Robards - both had offices, but she was reluctant to ask.

"Wotcher," she said, tapping on the wall. Robards, who was face-down on his desk, shifted and looked up. He had a piece of parchment stuck to his face which he pulled off. Then he cleared his throat, looking a little embarrassed.

"Good morning, Tonks," he said gruffly.

"How... er... how are you today, sir?" she asked, concerned. He had a scruffy beard, shadows under his green eyes, and his hair didn't look like it had seen a comb in days.

"Been better," he said wryly. "I'm looking – believe me, I'm looking – but I'm just not-" He paused to yawn. "-finding anything. She's taken a leaf right out of Black's book, or so it seems."

"Oh," Tonks said, her face falling. Some of her good mood - from her morning spent with a tired, somewhat irritable Remus - faded.

"I can't even take a leaf out of Black's book myself," Robards sighed, shuffling a few papers on his desk, "because none of us have any idea where he is, either." He gave her a tired look. "You wouldn't happen to know when he's planning on coming back for his trial, would you?"

"No," Tonks said. Robards looked disappointed. "Remus didn't mention it," she continued, apologetically. "I could ask next time I see him, if you'd like?" It occurred to her that she had no idea when that would be – he hadn't left her with any way to contact him, though the wards on his cottage would still work.

"That would be-" Robards rubbed his eyes and yawned again. "-helpful, thank you."

"No problem," she said. She muttered the password for her Sidekick, and then frowned. She was almost late. "Er..." Robards waved a hand, his attention already back on a piece of parchment on his desk. "I'll come by again-"

"Tomorrow," Robards said. "I know." Tonks left, making her way down the corridor to the broom cupboard entrance.

"Morning," Yaxley said, as Tonks approached her and Ben. Both looked utterly exhausted and Florence, unsurprisingly, wasn't there.

"Wotcher," Tonks said. Ben was silent for a moment, as if trying to decide where to start.

"I saw Robards," he said eventually. Yaxley frowned at him. "He-"

"I was just there," Tonks sighed, and Ben's eyes dimmed.

"Bit of a mess, isn't he?"

"He was asleep when I got there." The corners of Ben's mouth turned down, and Yaxley put a hand on his shoulder, and gave Tonks a sad look. "You two don't look far from it either. Big night?" Ben ran a hand through his hair, and looked at Yaxley.

"Florence is missing," he said. Anyone else might have laughed, but after Melvin, and after McKinnon, and after Remus – who had now twice vanished for weeks at a time - missing people were not something Tonks could find even remotely humorous.

"What happened?" she whispered.

"We were working late last night, tracking a guy who's been targeting muggles. Lyra and Florence got caught up in a duel, and then the bloke hit Florence with something and ran for it. We thought it was only a Stunner, but she wasn't well; she was sick, and shaking, and she just kept getting worse... and then Kingsley was hit with something – he's in St Mungo's – and by the time we'd stabilised him, our man had vanished, and so had Florence."

"We found her Sidekick, but we don't know if she left, or if she was taken," Yaxley said anxiously. "We checked her flat, St Mungo's, the entire Ministry-"

"Did you check for magical traces?" Tonks asked. That horrible, twisting feeling in her stomach was back and far too familiar.

"At the scene? Yeah: portkeys," Ben said. "Twenty of them, all of which all activated at the same time, and all ended up in different locations."

"Who were they made by?"

"Dunno," Ben said. "The traces were just Portkey coloured."

"Portkey coloured?" Tonks repeated, more confused than upset for the first time.

"Yeah, you know, pale blue." Tonks shuddered; she'd developed a loathing for the colour blue thanks to their Greyback case. She almost told them that it was probably just Florence's magic they'd seen, but didn't, because that would lead to awkward questions. "Like when they activate and go and there's that light?" Ben added, but Tonks wasn't listening, because pale blue where the Portkeys had been meant that Florence was the one who'd created the Portkeys, and that unnerved her for a reason she couldn't put her finger on.

_That's silly, though; why would she leave in the middle of a case? _And then she realised; Ben had said that Florence had been sick and shaky, and that they'd assumed it was spell damage. But what if it hadn't been? What if Florence had _had_ to leave? Thanks to several hours worrying about Remus, Tonks was uncomfortably aware that it had been a full moon last night.

_She can't be._ Except she could. How many times had Florence slept in, or been sick? More than Tonks could count, honestly. And how many times had she sniffed something or someone to identify them? Tonks tried to remember if she'd ever seen Florence holding a sickle, and couldn't name a time.

_And my jumper_, Tonks remembered. She'd spent the afternoon with Florence – and Melvin and Keith – before going to the camp, which must have been why Tonks' jumper had smelled like the elusive Smoky. Tonks was almost convinced.

_So Florence is – possibly – Smoky, _she thought, and panic started to bubble in her chest. Not because her friend was a werewolf, but because her friend was – possibly – a killer. Tonks and Mad-Eye would have to arrest her, and, though she'd probably done the wizarding world a favour, she'd still be stripped of her trainee position, and could well serve a sentence in Azkaban.

_Only if I turn her in, _Tonks realised, and then cringed, not liking the outcome of letting her stay free, or having her turned in.

"Tonks?" Ben said, putting a hand on her shoulder. "It's okay, we'll find her." Tonks gave a fake little laugh, her mind reeling, and hoped that nothing they were about to be taught was too intensive; she needed time to think.

* * *

"Come in," Albus called, as one of the instruments on the table in the corner flashed brightly. He heard a startled intake of breath on the other side of the door, and then it opened slowly to admit two children – a boy and a girl – neither of whom were familiar to him.

"Are you Professor Dumbledore?"

"I am indeed, my dear," he said, smiling. "And to whom am I speaking?"

"I'm Sarah and this is Ethan." The boy – Ethan – waved shyly, his eyes never leaving Sarah, and Albus inclined his head, deciding now was not the time to ask why they'd left their last names out.

"A pleasure," Albus said. He flicked his wand, startling both children – another strange thing – and conjured chairs. "Please, take a seat." Sarah hesitated, and then strode forward and sat down. After a moment, Ethan followed her lead. Albus used the time to try to work out who they might be, but reached no useful conclusion.

Sarah was the older one, he thought – she was maybe twelve – while Ethan didn't look much older than ten. They didn't look related; Sarah's hair was a platinum blond – almost Malfoyish – while Ethan's was a brown so pale and dull that it was practically grey. Sarah's eyes were brown – and, sadly, haunted - while Ethan's were blue, and he was lanky while Sarah was more rounded.

"You're confused," Ethan said, meeting Albus' eyes for the first time since he'd arrived. Albus smiled, feeling a little troubled.

"You have me at a loss," he admitted. Sarah and Ethan exchanged looks.

"We've come to join your school," Sarah said, rather confidently. Ethan cleared his throat and Sarah flushed, suddenly looking uncertain. "To learn magic. If you'll have us, of course." She paused, and eyed Albus for a moment. "We have letters. Show him," she barked. Ethan, to Albus' surprise, didn't flinch or seem at all surprised by her tone. Instead, he just pulled two pieces of worn, dirty parchment out of his pocket and held them out.

They were Hogwarts letters. One to a Sarah Walker and one to an Ethan Runcorn. Albus spared a moment to wonder whether Ethan was Albert's son, and then stored it away for later consideration. He turned his attention back to the letters. Ethan's was all in order; he'd had his eleventh birthday in February and was expected to begin in September. Sarah's letter, on the other hand, was two years old; she should have started last year. The letters were missing their envelopes, too, so Albus couldn't even see where they'd been sent to. His curiosity about the pair before him spiked again.

"Both are genuine," he said, passing the letters back to Ethan. "I cannot foresee any problems with your own admission, Mr Runcorn, though yours presents a few obvious issues, Miss Walker. Might I ask why you didn't attend last year?"

"Things were different," she said.

"How so?" he asked gently. For a moment, he thought she might refuse to answer - her jaw set and her nose came up – but then she seemed to remember herself and shifted in her seat.

"Father was alive," she said, and that sadness returned to her eyes.

"I'm sorry for your loss," Albus said, trying – and failing – yet again, to make sense of what was happening.

"Are you?" she asked. There was something in her voice that was almost challenging. Ethan glanced between them, looking nervous. "You don't even know who our father was."

_Our father...?_ Albus wondered. "Regardless," he said quietly, knowing that this was delicate ground, "losing a family member is never easy." Sarah looked pleased with his verdict, and then thoughtful. Ethan still looked anxious, though this time, Albus thought there was something familiar about the boy, though couldn't place it. When Albus turned his gaze on Sarah, she seemed unperturbed. It was a rare child that didn't feel uncomfortable when Albus used what Minerva and Severus referred to as his x-ray stare. Ethan's reaction was more normal; he seemed to shrink under Albus' attention, and that only made him seem even more familiar. Finally, Albus realised why.

There was something about Ethan that reminded Albus of Remus. Perhaps it was the fact that he was as lanky as Remus had been at the same age, or perhaps it was his lack of confidence around strangers, or perhaps it was just that single expression. Albus' smile was slow and troubled, but he was genuinely pleased now that he understood what was happening.

"He's got it," Ethan murmured, glancing at Sarah. Both looked a little afraid, though Sarah also looked defiant.

"Well?" she said, rather bossily. "Will you let us in?"

"Perhaps," Albus said, letting the slightest reprimand slip into his tone. Sarah bristled and Albus decided not to try that again. "I have a few concerns, as you can understand, but I have also been in this situation – or one similar to it – and I know that an arrangement like the one you are proposing can not only work, but can do so very successfully."

Sarah and Ethan exchanged a long look, while Albus leaned back in his chair and steepled his hands. Unsurprisingly, it was Sarah who spoke.

"What concerns?" she asked.


	60. Interruptions

Florence appeared about midway through training - Savage had just started on the blood ward focused part of his lecture – looking tired, and rather unwell. She was paler than usual, had a cut on her cheek and her arm was in a sling. She was immediately descended upon by Finch, and Ben hurried over to join them. Florence hugged him, and spotted Tonks. She waved, and Tonks waved back, and that was all they had time for before Finch ushered her back up the stairs; presumably she had questions that needed answers.

Tonks watched them leave, as guilt and worry gnawed on her insides, and tried to sort out what she was going to do. She was due to meet Mad-Eye in less than ten minutes, and she still have no idea what to say to him. It was her job to catch people that did the wrong thing – and Florence, technically, had – but Tonks didn't feel right just turning one of her best friends over to the Ministry.

_I'll say nothing, _she decided. _Not for another day or two. Not until I can be sure that whatever decision I make is the right – or least wrong – one._

* * *

Sirius' second trial was nowhere near as eventful as the first one. It happened three days after June's full moon – when Remus was entirely recovered – and it was a very quiet affair, with just Fudge, Amelia, Rattler and Umbridge there on the Ministry's behalf, and only Sirius, Remus and Harry there for their side.

The whole thing took half an hour, at the end of which, Sirius had managed to argue Remus' way out of several prison terms and a fine – Umbridge's prejudice against werewolves was shining through, and Sirius thought he wanted to strangle the woman as much as Remus, who kept flexing his hands – and Sirius himself had given in with rather ill grace and let them issue him a large fine for being an illegal Animagus.

"I did technically break the law," he complained, as he, Remus and Harry made their way to Level Two so that he could register, "but you'd think that my time in Azkaban would negate the need for a bloody fine!"

"It's not like you can't afford it," Harry chimed, and Sirius pulled a face at him. Harry pulled one back, and then pressed himself a little closer to Sirius' side and nervously tried to flatten his fringe; a witch had just entered their lift and promptly dropped the stack of papers she was holding.

"Mmm," Sirius said, staring back at the woman just as intently as she was staring at them. It took her a moment to notice, and then she smiled nervously, and then she started to look uncomfortable. She got off on the next floor, and Sirius leaned against the side of the lift, feeling rather pleased with himself.

"Git," Remus said, chuckling.

"Hardly. She deserved it." Sirius grinned at Remus, who did his best to smother his very obvious smile, and at Harry, who looked amused enough for the moment, but also rather resigned. "But honestly," Sirius continued, "surely Azkaban makes up for-"

"If this is going to bother you that much," Remus said tiredly, "then go and challenge them about it." Sirius toyed with the idea for a few seconds and then shook his head.

"It's not worth it," he sighed. Then he grinned at Harry and said, "I reckon we've caused enough trouble."

"Probably," Harry agreed, laughing. Remus shook his head at the two of them, and stepped out of the lift. Sirius steered Harry out after him, and took the lead through the still-familiar Level Two; a few things had changed, but mostly, it was the same as it had been when Sirius worked as an Auror.

Remus was intercepted by Dora – who was heading off to lunch and greeted them cheerfully, if a little warily – as they crossed the Auror section of the floor, and he left with a sheepish smile and a promise he'd be home in time for dinner.

"He's oblivious," Sirius said, nudging Harry, as he smirked at Remus and Dora's backs.

"To what?" Harry asked, waving tentatively at a pair of Aurors who'd recognised him from guard duty. Sirius chuckled and then shook his head.

"Never mind." Registering as an Animagus was about as fun as Sirius had expected it to be – there was a form about three feet long, filled with stupid questions about Padfoot's appearance and personality – and he was relieved once it was done. _Guess the secret's officially out, isn't it, Prongs?_ he thought wryly, and was well able to imagine James snorting and telling him it had been out since the first trial. He smiled to himself as he passed the completed form back to the scruffy witch at the desk, and gestured for Harry to follow. "Do you want to go flying tomorrow?" Sirius asked, as they headed back to the lift. Harry grinned.

"Sounds brilliant," he said happily. Harry truly had inherited James' love of flying, but Sirius suspected some of his joy at the prospect was to get out of his Animagus study; he had a tentative grasp on Latin, and so Sirius had helped him move to the next stage, which was trying to come up with an incantation that would allow him to transform. It was easily the most time consuming part of the process – it wasn't easy to capture an entire personality and physical description in only a few sentences – and it was the part that Sirius expected Harry to struggle most with, purely because it required so much introspection. All he'd managed to do so far was get frustrated. "At Moon-"

Someone cleared their throat behind Sirius and he recognised the sound's owner and stiffened.

"Harry," a voice said quietly.

"Hello, sir," Harry said, with an easy smile and wave. Dumbledore smiled back, and then looked over at Sirius. Sirius' attempt at looking aloof vanished and was replaced by shock; Dumbledore looked _nervous._

"Sirius," he said carefully.

"Afternoon," Sirius said, and didn't offer anything else. Dumbledore opened his mouth, as if he wanted to say something, and then he bowed his head, apparently thinking better of it. Sirius couldn't decide whether to feel relieved or disappointed.

"Is Remus here with you?" Dumbledore asked finally, clasping his hands in front of him.

"He was," Sirius said, folding his arms. "Why?"

"I require a word with-"

"He's gone to get lunch," Sirius said. Harry glanced between Sirius and Dumbledore and looked a little disconcerted. Sirius sighed, realising he probably looked like a bit of a prat glaring at his old headmaster, and unfolded his arms. He put a hand on Harry's shoulder instead, and Harry smiled, but still looked concerned. "No idea how long he'll be." Dumbledore looked disappointed, and Sirius felt something inside him shrivel. He still hated that look, and the way it made him feel. He groaned. "He'll be living in his cottage again as of tomorrow, though," Sirius said. "I don't know if that helps, but-"

"It helps, dear boy," Dumbledore said, beaming. Sirius wasn't sure if he was happy to have an answer, or if he was happy that Sirius had offered the information. He thought it was the latter... well, he hoped it was. And then he cursed himself for thinking that way, because he was still angry... except he wasn't; he just thought he should be.

* * *

"Sarah and Ethan, you said?" Remus asked, and Dumbledore nodded and passed him a cup of tea. Remus groaned, and kneaded his forehead.

"You know them, I take it?" Dumbledore asked, stirring sugar into his own tea.

"Sarah usually goes by a different name," Remus said. _Greentooth._ He sighed. "But yes, I know her. And Ethan too, I think." Based on Dumbledore's description, Ethan could only be Silverear. "They're from the camp."

Dumbledore gave him a searching look and said, "I take it you and she are on rather poor terms."

"Something like that," Remus sighed.

"I found her a little troubling," Dumbledore admitted. "She's not at Tom Riddle's level, but I do have more reservations about her than I do about most of the other students... My main concern is that she could be dangerous."

"Of course she's dangerous; she's a werewolf," Remus said, taking a sip of tea. "We're not exactly cuddly."

Dumbledore chuckled, but sobered quickly. "Usually, I would give her a chance without hesitation, the way I did for you, but due to her self confessed affection for her 'father', I felt it would be wiser to ask for your opinion. I wish to help them, of course, but if they will prove dangerous to other students because of their upbringing..."

Remus wasn't sure what to say; if what Dumbledore had said was true, then Greentooth and Silverear were coming to Hogwarts to try to give themselves a chance at a reasonably normal wizarding life. He didn't like them, but they were only children and deserved a chance to have a fresh start... didn't they?

"Give them a chance," Remus sighed, after a moment of thought. "One chance." He hoped, for their sakes, that they'd make the best of it.

"Very well," Dumbledore said. Remus relaxed a little. "Thank you for your insight." Remus drained his cup and stood. "Actually," Dumbledore said worriedly, "I was wondering if I might be able to have a bit your time... it's about Sirius."

"What about him?" Remus asked flatly, but Dumbledore shook his head.

"I- He..." Dumbledore sighed. "Is he happy?"

"Reasonably," Remus said.

"And safe? Him and Harry both?"

"Yes, they're both safe," Remus assured him. And then, because – while it had worked out for the best – he was still annoyed at Sirius for abandoning him to Dora after the moon, added, "They're living in Sirius' parents' old house, and the wards on that-"

"Yes, it is," Dumbledore said, smiling. "I thought it might rain all through the summer."

"Pardon?"

"I said-"

"Yes, I heard that," Remus said impatiently, "but it's a bit of a sudden conversation change."

"How so?"

"Well, I said they're staying at Sirius' old house-"

"Yes, and then I agreed and said it is indeed a nice day today."

"Don't you think that's a bit off topic?"

"Dear boy, I agreed with you."

"I didn't say anything that needed to be agreed with."

"Pardon?" Dumbledore asked.

"I told you where they were living and you told me about it raining in the summer."

"You told me the weather was nice today," Dumbledore said, smiling faintly.

"I didn't. I said they're living in Sirius' old house."

"You're contradicting yourself, Remus."

Remus sighed, frustrated. "They're living at Grimmauld Place."

"I am aware your owl is named Strix," Dumbledore said, frowning slightly. "What does he have to do with Sirius or the weather, though?"

"Why are we talking about my owl?" Remus asked, startled into laughter.

"You brought it up," Dumbledore said.

"Sirius and Harry are living at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place," Remus said, reasonably confident now that those words wouldn't come out, for some strange reason.

"Yes, I suppose I can arrange to have biscuits brought up," Dumbledore said. "Just give me a-"

"Biscuits?!" Remus muttered. "I don't want biscuits!"

"Then why did you ask?" Dumbledore said.

"Sirius," Remus said slowly. "Is. Living. At. Nostril- Wait, what?"

"Nostril?"

"No," Remus took a deep breath. "They're living at. Num. Ber. Tweezers- No, sorry, Toothpaste- NO! Twilight- No! The number after elephant. NO!"

Dumbledore seemed to be enjoying himself. "Do you know, perhaps, whether there are any security charms on Sirius' home?"

"Hundreds," Remus said. "I suspect that's what this is; the Fidelius Charm... if that doesn't answer your question about safety, I don't know what will." _Damn you, Padfoot, _he thought, amused.

"At the very least we know they're well protected." Then, looking wary again, Dumbledore said, "Tell me, Remus, is possible I could write them a letter?"

"Of course, sir," Remus said. "But maybe... I could invite him here," he offered. It was probably some sort of reconciliation that Dumbledore had in mind, and Sirius would be a hypocrite not to make an appearance, when he'd forced Remus to do the same thing only a few days ago. "I think he and Harry were just hanging around the house today."

Dumbledore's beamed. "Feel free to use the fireplace."

Remus tossed a handful of Floo Powder into Dumbldore's fireplace, knelt down and said, "Numbat Toucan, Garden Prosperity."

"It is a very good thing you're merely attempting to firecall and not travel. The delightful owners of Garden Prosperity would have been in for quite a surprise," Dumbledore said. "Perhaps I should leave the room."

"Yes, please," Remus said, red-faced.

* * *

"Speak very, very clearly," Padfoot said, looking nervous, and a bit annoyed; Remus had Flooed them a few minutes ago, said something about Dumbledore and something about Tonks and Padfoot being a hypocrite, and now apparently they were off to Hogwarts. "And you can go first, just in case."

Harry stepped into the green flames. "Headmaster's office, Hogwarts," he said. The fire whooshed around him and he saw bricks rushing past his face and there was soot in his eyes and green, lots of green, and he hit his elbow _again_, and his glasses were slipping and then he skidded out onto soft carpet.

"Hello, Harry," Moony said, helping him up.

"Hi," Harry said. "Hello, Professor Dumbledore."

"Hello, Harry."

"P-Sirius is on his way," Harry said, glancing around the large, circular room. There were bookshelves spreading around the walls of the office, and above and between those were portraits of witches and wizards. Harry crossed the room to inspect a table of strange, silver instruments, most of which were whirring quietly, or flashing, or emitting little puffs of smoke. He didn't dare touch them. Behind Dumbledore's desk was a ragged old hat that Harry thought looked like it should have been thrown out years ago.

There was a large cabinet off to one side of the room, holding a strange looking bowl, and a soft trilling noise made Harry look towards the office door. Sitting on a golden perch was what could only have been a phoenix; it was the size of a swan with bright, intelligent eyes and vivid red and gold feathers. It trilled again and Harry waved at it before retreating back across the room to stand by Moony who was muttering to himself about gardens, gnomes, parrots and parades. Dumbledore was humming. A minute or so later, the fire flared green again and spat Padfoot out.

"Ah," he said, spotting Harry, "you made it." Harry scowled good naturedly. "Morning," Padfoot said to Dumbledore and Moony.

"Good morning, Sirius," Dumbledore said. "How are you?"

"Fine," Padfoot said, shrugging. He glowered at Moony, who looked smug.

"I hope I'm not disrupting any plans," Dumbledore said, and Harry thought he almost sounded shy.

"We were going to go for a walk," Padfoot said, shrugging. "Have a game of fetch... Nothing we can't do later." His voice was very polite.

"As a dog?" Dumbledore asked, looking amused.

"Sure," Padfoot said.

"None of us ever picked that," Dumbledore murmured to himself.

"Picked what?" Harry asked. Dumbledore turned to him, eyes twinkling.

"I'm getting sidetracked, I'm afraid," he said. "Thinking about Padfoot, actually; when the names came about - sometime in third year, I believe-" Moony and Padfoot nodded. "-the staff began taking bets on what the names were for."

"Did they really?!" Moony exclaimed, laughing. Dumbledore inclined his head.

"No wonder old Minnie was so insistent about trying to work it out," Padfoot said, looking amused; the amount of tension in the room had lightened considerably. "She set our progress back weeks because we were so paranoid!"

"She'd be delighted to hear it, I'm sure," Dumbledore said, smiling. "The record of everyone's wagers adorned the staff room for quite some time, though I haven't the faintest clue where it's ended up."

"Five galleons on Minnie," Padfoot said, grinning. Then he seemed to recover his strange mood and sobered. Moony glanced between them, caught Harry's eye and then nodded at the office door. Harry nodded and the pair of them excused themselves.

"Best to let them sort things out on their own," Moony said, leading Harry down a staircase. They found themselves in a corridor – one girl in blue robes walked past and gave them curious looks, thought thankfully didn't look close enough to recognise Harry – sitting on a stone bench beside a large window that overlooked the Hogwarts grounds. Harry was going to miss Padfoot and Moony and Kreacher when he moved to Hogwarts next year, but it certainly seemed like a nice place to live, especially when it was lit up by the summer sun.

"See that tree?" Moony asked. "That's the-"

"Whomping Willow," a snide voice finished. Harry stifled a groan and Moony squeezed his eyes shut.

"Snape," they said together.

"Potter. Lupin." Snape glanced around, apparently trying to spot Padfoot.

"He's in Dumbledore's office," Moony said; it seemed he'd reached the same conclusion as Harry.

"Of course," Snape drawled, looking annoyed. "Black always did have the very worst timing." Snape cast a quick charm to check the time and then scowled and snapped a word at a statue by the wall Harry and Remus had come through earlier.

Moony and Harry talked – with Moony pointing out features of the grounds – for a while longer, at least until raised voices drifted down from the office.

Moony groaned and got to his feet. He didn't invite Harry, but he didn't tell him to stay either, so Harry went with him. Moony pushed open the office door to reveal Padfoot and Snape glaring at each other, from a few yards away, and Dumbledore getting to his feet, looking impatient.

"-suspect, Black, it has something to do with a botched murder attempt plot-"

Harry waited, hardly daring to breathe. Moony had also gone very still beside him, and Dumbledore was watching with a guarded expression.

"James saved you and you know it!" Padfoot snapped. _He... he didn't deny it_, Harry realised, feeling ill. _He did try to kill him!_ _SNape was telling the truth!_

"Only to defend you, Black!" Snape spat. "A position his offspring has graciously filled."

"Don't bring Harry into this!" Padfoot shouted, getting to his feet.

"Sirius!" Moony said, trying to get Padfoot to sit down.

"You brought Potter into this when you kidnapped him, Black, so don't you tell me-"

"They treated him like you treated Lily!" Padfoot said. "Like dirt! Like something beneath them!"

"Professor-" Harry said, trying to get Dumbledore's attention; Snape looked dangerous. He knew how much Padfoot and Snape disliked each other, but for this to have accelerated this quickly... Harry shivered and one of the trinkets on Dumbledore's desk exploded.

"-father," Snape was saying.

"I do not keep him around so that I can pretend he's James!" Padfoot roared, startling Moony. He waved his wand and Snape's greasy hair turned a vivid pink. Snape snarled and Padfoot sprouted a nasty set of boils on his forehead. Moony was still trying to get himself between them and Dumbledore was trying to calm them down verbally.

Harry, who might ordinarily have found this funny, was close to losing it. Snape - the git - had hexed his godfather, said awful things about both of Harry's parents and been rude to Harry himself. Padfoot - the bigger git - had started it. Harry had defended Padfoot, said he wasn't a murderer, and was rewarded with finding out his godfather had actually tried to kill Snape, and then this bout of infantile duelling.

Harry found his magic and flung it out with the intention of getting them both to be quiet. Both were shoved into seats and their voices immediately cut off.

"Harry-" Moony said, releasing Padfoot's arm, to put a hand on Harry's shoulder.

"Don't," Harry said shortly, pulling out of the other man's grip. He just knew he wanted to get out of there, to get home, and so he spun on the spot, his magic lashing out around him, pinning Padfoot again when he tried to get up.

* * *

Severus stared at the place where the Potter boy had vanished. Several of the silver instruments Dumbledore insisted on keeping were going wild; one was flashing brightly when usually it just pulsed dimly, one - that somewhat resembled a muggle spinning-top - was whizzing around and the one that had kept exploding was still broken, resting in numerous pieces on the table and carpet.

Dumbledore got up, tapped the spinning one once to still it, repaired the emotional-gauge one with a warning look at Severus and Black, as if they might break it again, and picked up the flashing one, murmuring in a strange tongue Severus didn't understand.

"Fascinating," he murmured, setting it down again. Black seemed to snap out of his stupor. He waved his hands at Lupin who tapped his shoulder with his wand.

"I have to go," Black said urgently.

"You'll stay right where you are." Dumbledore said firmly. "And if you say another word before I ask you to speak again, I'll Silence you myself. That goes for you too, Severus." Severus abandoned all hope of getting out unscathed when he heard the disappointment in the Headmaster's voice. He nodded, well aware he'd make a fool of himself if he tried to speak; the Potter brat's Silencing Charm was no doubt still affecting him. Dumbledore was now walking around his desk with his wand raised above his head as he muttered various protective enchantments.

"Sir?" Lupin said, puzzled.

"It would seem," Dumbledore said, still walking in his circle, "that your behaviour caused Harry enough distress that he was able to remove a section of the wards in his desperation to return home." Severus' mouth fell open.

"That's not possible!" Lupin exclaimed.

"Oh, I assure you it is," Dumbledore said. He sounded cheerful enough but his eyes were not twinkling even slightly. _Typical Potter_: _No regard for school property. Never mind those wards are in place to protect the students and staff, as soon as they're inconvenient, he just brushes them aside and does what he pleases..._ Dumbledore didn't seem to mind. He wasn't angry with Potter, anyway, though he did seem annoyed at Black and at Severus. Worse was that Severus felt he might deserve it. But only a bit. And Black deserved it more than he did; the boy was Black's to care for, not to upset and send into a fit of magical distress.

"He's nine!" Black said, looking confused, proud and worried all at once.

"And in considerable distress," Dumbledore said in a steely tone. "He could not do it if he tried and I doubt that he could ever repeat it, but it has happened nonetheless. Alas, accidental magic is often this way; unpredictable, and devastatingly powerful if given half a chance."

Potter was by no means as strong magically as Dumbledore, but he was still young and he was certainly no average wizard, if Draco's stories were to be believed. If he could learn to control that power, the Dark Lord would have a valid reason to fear him after all.

The boy had just vanished, after all! Had he had a Portkey Severus hadn't been aware of? Or perhaps he'd Apparated somehow. That should be impossible - given his age and all of the laws of magic that said one could not Apparate inside the castle - but if he'd torn down the wards then perhaps not..

Curious, Seversu sent a very light Legillimency probe in Black's direction. It should have merely skimmed the forefront of his mind and perhaps enlightened Severus on whatever it was that had just happened, but something else occurred instead; the probe was thrust back, and knocked into the walls of Severus' dungeon mind with a mental thud that made him wince.

_What in Merlin's..._

"Do you mind?" Black snarled, without as much as a grimace. Dumbledore and Lupin looked between them, confused. Severus merely raised a hand to his temple and scowled at Black, who, it seemed had just _blocked _him, without even seeming bothered. The man was still staring at the place where Potter had disappeared.

"Sirius-"

"No, sir," Black snapped. "I'm not a student here anymore, and sure, I'm younger than you are, but I don't have any obligation to listen to you if I don't want to. I'm a free man. I'm sorry for what I said today-" Black shifted, looking genuinely apologetic. "-and I'd be more than happy to try to patch up your hurt feelings later." His eyes landed on Severus at this last. "But if you think that's coming before Harry, you're dead wrong, because at the moment, the person that deserves an apology from me the most _isn't here, _and I rather think that I need to be where he is."

Severus made a small, disgusted noise – one meant to goad Black a bit, but Black just gave him a look containing equal parts loathing of Severus, and also of himself.

"I'm amiable to giving you a second chance," Black said stiffly, looking at Dumbledore. "You'll have to work for it, but the opportunity is there." Dumbledore, oddly, looked pleased, as if Black's opinion of him mattered. "If you need to contact me, send a letter to Remus' and he'll make sure I get it." Black and Lupin exchanged a thoughtful look, and then Lupin nodded. "I've got to go. I'll see you tomorrow, Moony."

Lupin nodded. "Come around whenever."

"And Sni-Sna-" Black swallowed loudly, as if utterly repulsed by something. "Severu- Severarse," he finally managed. Dumbledore didn't seem to notice the subtle inflection on the final few syllables but Lupin did and sighed.

"Black."

"I'm sorry," he said, looking as if he were physically in pain. "I don't take back anything I did today-" Lupin groaned quietly, massaging his temples. "-but if I could do this afternoon over then maybe I'd have been... er... less enthusiastic with the insults." Severus merely stared at him, wishing he had the ability to cause people (Black) pain - severe pain - with just his eyes. Black nodded once and walked over to the fire. He whispered and address that Severus didn't hear – and didn't need to hear – and was gone.

Lupin made his excuses and left shortly after leaving Severus alone with Dumbledore. "I have essays to mark," he said, heading for the door.

"Not so quickly, Severus," the Headmaster said, nodding at the three seats in front of him. Severus sighed and dropped into the one the Potter boy had used. His skin crawled at the very idea but he'd rather sit where the Potter boy had than where Lupin or Black had.

"Say what you need to, then," Severus said bluntly. "I'm short on time and my patience has long since expired."

"I had expected more from you."

"I was provoked," Severus replied.

"I appreciate that," Dumbledore said, "but you were hardly a guiltless party. You are a grown man-"

"-as is Black," Severus said, folding his arms. He refused to feel guilty about what had just transpired.

"Harry Potter is only a boy, and even he thought your behaviour was inappo-"

"Harry Potter is the most spoiled, inconsiderate-"

"You are determined to hate him, Severus," Dumbledore said gently, "for no reason other than that he exists."

"No reason?" Severus repeated. "You of all people should understand, Headmaster, that there is no _greater_ reason."

"Not for you," Dumbledore sighed. "Remember, though, Severus, that Lily Potter sacrificed her life for her son. She believed that there was something in him, that he would be capable of great-"

"The fact remains, Headmaster, that she died for him," Severus said curtly. "And that is unforgivable." He spun on his heel and strode out of the office, relieved Dumbledore did not try to call him back.

* * *

It was with a heavy heart that she said her goodbyes to Yaxley and trudged up to Mad-Eye's office. She bit her lip, trying to think of the best way to present her suspicions to her mentor, and knocked.

"I'm busy!" Mad-Eye growled. Tonks let herself in anyway, and Mad-Eye spun in his chair. She cringed; his eye was out and resting in a glass of water on his desk.

"That's disgusting!" she said, looking away.

"Well good," he said, ignoring her comment. "You were the person I was about to be busy with - I think I might have found our killer." Tonks shrugged her rucksack off and left it in the corner.

"You have?" Tonks asked, both afraid - that Mad-Eye had reached the same conclusion as she had - and hopeful that it might be someone else.

"Aislinne Lovegood," he said, and Tonks blinked.

_I was wrong?_ she wondered, feeling hopeful, but also confused. _It made sense, though... all the times she's been sick, or slept in... though I suppose not all of them were on full moons – last week wasn't a full moon, after all... Maybe she's just incredibly unlucky. Maybe she was really kidnapped last night... maybe she didn't attack herself; maybe she got hurt fighting her way free._ She'd been sure; almost certain, in fact, but Mad-Eye'd been at this job a lot longer than she had, and he knew a likely suspect when he saw one.

_And it's this Lovegood woman, apparently. Not Florence. _She relaxed a little, and shook her head. _Silly. Of course it couldn't be Florence. Florence is so small and fragile... she couldn't be a wolf... and surely someone would have noticed by now. The Auror Department isn't perfect, but surely they'd have done background checks or something before they let us in. _She nodded to herself, and accepted Lovegood's file from Mad-Eye.

"Read it," he said, trying to fish his eye out of his glass. "Then tell me what you think." Tonks pulled a chair over and sat down, her eyes already skimming over the parchment. By the time she finished reading, she'd convinced herself that it was definitely Lovegood.

"She designs spells?" Tonks asked, arching an eyebrow.

"She does. And, if that wasn't enough, she's got a vague connection to Greyback."

"What?" Tonks flicked through the file again, but found nothing about that.

"Her husband. Self-publishes a magazine – it's about all sorts of things - but they've got an underlying focus on magical creatures... They've had stories about werewolves a few times in the last few years, and the articles are all detailed enough for me to be confident that someone – maybe Lupin's Smoky – is answering questions."

"So Lovegood's not Smoky?" Tonks asked, her heart sinking again.

"Let's find out," he said, hauling himself out of his chair.

Two hours, two flights, three Floo excursions, one muggle bus and four Portkeys later, Tonks had finally managed to convince Mad-Eye that no one was following them, and they arrived on the Lovegoods' front doorstep. Mad-Eye instantly began casting spells, while Tonks had a look around. The house was large, black and cylindrical and Tonks stared, fascinated at it, and also at the eccentric combination of plants growing in the garden. She was surprised that, despite her high marks in N.E.W.T. Herbology, she only recognised one or two things.

"Have you ever seen anything like that before?" she asked, nudging Mad-Eye. Her ignored her and didn't even look in the direction of the plant with orange radish-like fruit. Instead, he continued to cast charms that were probably giving him all sorts of information about the house and its occupants. _Unnecessary information_, Tonks thought, knowing her mentor wouldn't go anywhere without a good idea of what he was getting himself into. He was just being paranoid again, and she suspected he'd spend another hour doing this if she let him.

Rolling her eyes at the thought, Tonks stepped forward and knocked on the door.

"Nymphadora!" Mad-Eye snarled, freezing in place. Tonks heard voices in the house, and then light footsteps. Mad-Eye's mouth set in a grim line, and he snatched his Sidekick out of a pocket in his robes. Tonks followed his example, though felt she was more relaxed about it; Mad-Eye's knuckles were white, and his Sidekick was in danger of being crushed. Her own was clasped loosely in her hand, and she traced the letters of her name with her thumbnail.

Tonks saw Mad-Eye square his shoulders out of the corner of her eye, and a moment later, the door opened to reveal a small, brightly coloured figure, holding a paintbrush. Tonks liked the girl on first sight, which was a bit of a shame, since they were here to question her mother; she was wearing a pair of large, fluffy boots, vibrant green jeans and a bubblegum pink smock that was liberally splattered in colourful paint.

The girl's eyes trailed over both of them – she seemed more curious than taken aback by Mad-Eye's eye – and then she tucked her paintbrush behind her ear and smiled at them.

"Hello," she said, in a high pitched, rather dreamy voice.

"Morning," Mad-Eye said gruffly. "I'm Auror Moody, this is Trainee Tonks."

"Can I see that?" the girl asked, looking at the Sidekicks with big eyes.

"Sure," Tonks said, dropping hers into the girl's small hands. She realised too late that she probably should have offered to clean the girl's hands first – they were covered in smears of paint too – and did her best to ignore Mad-Eye, who was looking at her as if she'd just done something inexcusable.

The girl held Tonks' Sidekick up for close inspection and then sniffed it.

"Interesting," she said, squinting at Tonks, who gave her a blank look. "I thought it might have been made of leprechaun gold."

"Erm, no," Tonks said, accepting her Sidekick back. She wiped it on her robes and managed to get most of the paint off before she returned it to her pocket. Then, curious, she added, "Why would it be made of leprechaun gold?"

"Oh, it's not, I just thought it might be... Perhaps you haven't heard," she said, looking thoughtful. "Rufus Scrimgeour's part leprechaun, so-"

"Is your mother home?" Mad-Eye asked, clearing his throat. Tonks bit the inside of her cheek and rearranged her face slightly to keep from laughing.

"Yes," the girl said, staring at them both again. "Would you like to see her?"

"Yes please," Tonks said, and – after a glance at Mad-Eye - entered the house.


	61. The Loss Of Padfoot's Pride

Sirius strode out of the fireplace as soon as Grimmauld's kitchen materialised and only paused long enough to take in the abandoned frying pan on the stove – Kreacher'd obviously left in a hurry – before he sprinted up the stairs, skidded on the floorboards, and launched himself up the main staircase as Padfoot. He cut his paws on glass – from shattered lamps – on the way up, but the thing that bothered him most about that was the implication that Harry's magic had still been lashing out when he arrived home, instead of exhausted by tearing down the wards at Hogwarts.

Things got noisier, the higher up Sirius went, and the reason became apparent when he managed to distinguish his mother' shrill voice; Harry'd obviously disrupted the portraits. Sure enough, they were lying in a pile on the floor of Kreacher's cupboard, cursing 'that Potter brat'. Kreacher himself was there too, and Padfoot retransformed into Sirius at the sight of him. The old elf was alternating between hitting his head against the wall, and staring worriedly at Harry's closed door.

"Kreacher was told not to worry," Kreacher croaked, rather pitifully. "But Kreacher worries, oh yes. The brat is not fine, oh no, even if he says he is, but Kreacher was told to stay out, oh yes, and Kreacher listens-"

"I'll take care of it," Sirius promised, and then was hit with the niggling doubt that he might not be able to, this time. This wasn't a self-confidence issue of Harry's, or something that needed explaining. This was Sirius' fault. He should have waited until Harry wasn't around before he started having a proper discussion with Dumbledore about their fallout after the trial, and he shouldn't have let Snape provoke him as much as he had, and her _certainly_ shouldn't have retaliated. _Lily would have hexed me for behaving the way I did today_, he thought dejectedly._And Prongs too. Moony would have, I'm sure, but then he'd have looked just as bad as I did._

"Harry?" he called, rapping on the door. "Can I come in?" There was no response. "Harry? Kiddo?" Still nothing. "Harry," Sirius said, "if you don't want to talk, that's fine, but could you just let me know that you're all right?" Sirius fidgeted. "Harry? Kiddo, I'm coming in."

When that didn't win him even a protest in response, Sirius tried the doorknob, and was surprised to find the door was unlocked. It swung open. It was not as messy as he'd expected; there were clothes on the floor but they looked like they'd been dropped there, not thrown around by accidental magic. The desk was always untidy, and clearly not affected by magic either. Harry's bed was unmade but he never did that anyway, and Harry himself was draped rather precariously on the end, unmoving.

"Harry," Sirius said, stepping forward. Harry didn't even twitch. Sirius swore under his breath and approached the bed. Harry was indeed unconscious. He was very pale, rather clammy and also bleeding from a serious, but not life-threatening cut on his lower neck.

_Splinching, _Sirius thought with a grimace. He scooped Harry up and rearranged him on the bed properly – he had to pluck his godson's wand out of his tightly clenched fist after almost poking himself in the eye – and then fixed the cut and cleaned the blood away with a few waves of his wand.

A few diagnostics convinced him that there was nothing truly wrong with Harry – other than being exhausted – he set up a charm to tell him when Harry's feet touched the floor – a charm he'd found in that parenting book Remus had given him for Christmas – and left the room. Kreacher was still waiting out on the landing.

"He's asleep," Sirius said, in a voice that sounded hollow even to his own ears.

"Wake the brat," Kreacher suggested, with an uncommonly shrewd look. Sirius shifted and glanced at Harry's door. Then he shook his head, without meeting Kreacher's eyes. Kreacher harrumphed and pointed at the stairs. "Kreacher will make tea," he decided. Sirius didn't argue; he shuffled downstairs, and felt even guiltier than he had already when Kreacher refused to let him repair any of the damage Harry'd made.

Three hours, seven cups of tea and one conclusion - that Remus must have gone home or stayed at Hogwarts because he still hadn't shown up – later, Sirius jumped as his wand vibrated; Harry was out of bed. Sirius drained the rest of his tea and got up – Kreacher glanced at him and then turned back to the chopping board – feeling nervous, and also incredibly embarrassed and ashamed of.

_Because of Snape_? Sirius asked himself, as he trudged upstairs. _Or because of how I acted?_ He still hadn't decided by the time he reached Harry's door – which was still closed – and knocked.

"Harry?" There was no response, but this time, Sirius was sure it was because Harry was ignoring him. "Kiddo, can I come in?"

"If I say no will you do it anyway?" Harry asked. There was more bite than humour in his voice, and Sirius flinched.

"No," he said, after a pause. There was silence – as Harry mulled that over – and then a huff.

"All right," Harry said, and Sirius stepped into the room. Harry was curled up in his desk chair, staring out of the window with a distant expression on his young face and his wand held tightly in his fist. Sirius lifted his wand to conjure himself a chair and then thought better of it. He remained on his feet. "Thanks for fixing my neck," Harry said, without looking at him. Sirius waved his hand dismissively.

"Do you feel okay?"

"Tired," was all Harry offered.

"Can I talk to you?"

"You already are," Harry replied, still not looking at him.

"I'm sorry," Sirius said.

"I don't want an apology!" Harry told him, spinning his chair around.

"That's too bad," Sirius said. "You're getting one anyway."

"But you didn't do anything to me," Harry mumbled, looking at him properly for the first time.

Sirius rolled his eyes but he was sad to see just how guarded Harry's face was. He was clearly trying to look composed but he was failing miserably; every few seconds he'd clench his jaw, as if to remind himself that he was angry, and he couldn't hide the look of disappointment that kept flickering through his brilliant green eyes.

"I upset you," he said. Harry shrugged, trying to look indifferent. "I'm sorry for being such a git to Snape-"

"I don't care about that," Harry said. Sirius raised an eyebrow. "Well a bit, but not much. He deserves it."

"It's still no excuse," Sirius said, now a little thrown; what exactly had he done to upset his godson? He waited. Harry swallowed noisily, shifted his wand from his left hand to his right and squared his jaw. His eyes, which had more or less been avoiding Sirius' until now, flicked up to watch his face.

"Did you really try to kill Snape?" he asked, getting straight to the point as Sirius had hoped he would.

_Ah_. Sirius took a deep breath. "I-" Harry watched him critically, and moved his wand almost imperceptibly so that it was pointed at Sirius. _He's_afraid_ of me_, he realised. With that thought came shame and it _burned_.

"Don't lie," Harry said. "Please." Sirius nodded slowly, and sat down on the end of Harry's bed.

"It was an accident."

"So you did."

"I didn't mean to," Sirius said, letting out a noisy breath. "It was a full moon. James and Peter were waiting for me in the dormitory, and then all three of us were going to go down to keep Remus company. Snape was... Snape." Harry's eyes narrowed slightly. "I'm not trying to defend myself, I promise. I'm just trying to put things into perspective. Snape'd been following us all around, trying to get us expelled - Merlin knows why - and usually it wasn't a problem but since I had to get back to the others and we all had to get down to Moony, my patience was running fairly thin.

"Snape was making some uncannily accurate guesses about where Moony was and I got more and more frustrated before I finally told him how to get past the Whomping Willow. I honestly didn't mean to. I was angry and it slipped out and I couldn't take it back." He smiled without humour.

"You sent Snape down to where a live werewolf was?" Harry asked.

"Look, I was young, I was stupid and I wanted Snape to bugger off and leave me the hell alone... I wasn't thinking at all." Harry didn't contradict him. Sirius didn't expect him to. "Of course, the first thing I did was try to Obliviate the git. The second thing I did was tell James."

"Bet he thought it was funny," Harry muttered.

"Funny? Not at all!" Harry looked bewildered and... hopeful? "He went down after Snape. He saved his life." There was more to it of course, but the rest wasn't exactly relevant.

"And you just sat by?" Harry asked, a little angrily.

"Of course not. That was Peter's job; he sat on his bed and did his homework. No, I went and told McGongall what I'd done and then I went down to help James carry Snivellus out - he fainted when he heard me coming."

"Oh," Harry said.

"Oh?" Sirius repeated, amused despite himself. Harry flushed but he lowered his wand slightly.

"So it was an accident?"

"Didn't I already say that?"

Harry bit his lip. "What was my dad really like?"

"What do you mean what was he really-"

"Was he obnoxious?" Harry blurted, looking pained. "Snape said he was capable of murder at the age of sixteen-"

"Never," Sirius said firmly. "Obnoxious, perhaps - we all were, really. Capable of murder... absolutely not."

"He didn't want Snape dead?"

"Weren't you listening before? James _saved _Snape. And I- I told him how to get down there, sure, but I didn't actually want him to get hurt. I'm a git, kiddo, but I'm not a monster." Harry's face brightened a bit, and Sirius wondered what part if was that had reassured him. A moment later, though, Harry was looking frustrated.

"Why does he hate him so much?" Harry asked, frustrated.

"Who?"

"Snape, and Dad."

"It's just one of those things, kiddo. Jealousy was a big part of it; James was a Quidditch player - either Chaser or Seeker and brilliant at both - he was smart, popular, everyone liked him. Snape was an oddball. Lily was his only friend and even she stopped trying after fifth year – he said some things, and he was too interested in the Dark Arts for her to be able to forgive him... I won't lie and say James and I didn't give the git a hard time, but he wasn't the type to sit there and take it - we got as good as we gave, I assure you." Harry didn't seem to know whether to be comforted by that or not.

After a short while, his eyes grew distant again and he lost himself in his own thoughts. Sirius waited patiently, ready to answer any other questions he might have but none came. _It's hard to remember that he's not even ten yet_, he thought, sighing quietly. Harry was almost independent, and very mature in the way he spoke and carried himself.

"Padfoot?"_ Still using nicknames, _he thought, relieved. _That's a good sign._

"Yeah?"

"You still have boils on your face."

"I know." They were awfully itchy too, but they could wait.

"Padfoot," Harry said again.

"Yeah?"

"Sorry for leaving so suddenly, before."

"At Hogwarts?" Harry nodded. He rolled his eyes. "Kiddo, that's not something to apologise for. We've already established I was being a prat. It's my fault for making you leave... although..."

"Yes?"

"Next time you see him, you should probably apologise to Dumbledore for ruining his wards."

"I didn't mean to," Harry mumbled.

"No one blames you," Sirius assured him. "It's just the polite thing to do." Harry nodded. "So," Sirius said tentatively, "are we all right?"

Harry looked him over appraisingly and nodded.

* * *

"This is Mum," the girl said, leading them into the kitchen. A woman - presumably Aislinne – glanced over her shoulder as they walked in. She was standing with one foot on the kitchen bench, and the other on the back of a spindly chair. Tonks expected her to fall at any moment, but she looked perfectly comfortable.

"Hello," she said in a voice just as airy as her daughter's. She added a few more yellow splotches to the dragon she was painting on the kitchen cabinets and then tucked her paintbrush behind her ear – and Tonks now knew where the daughter had learned that particular behaviour.

"I'm Auror Moody," Mad-Eye said gruffly, flashing his badge at her. Tonks mimicked him. "This is Trainee Tonks. We have a few questions for you."

Aislinne climbed down – Tonks knew if she'd been the one climbing, she'd have fallen and broken something, but Aislinne managed with all of the ease of practice – wiped her hands on her flowery jeans and glanced curiously at Mad-Eye's Sidekick.

"Interesting," she said, peering at it. Mad-Eye's mouth set, and Tonks just knew he was getting annoyed. "That's not made out of leprechaun gold, is it?"

"No, Mummy," the girl said, "I checked." She and her mother shared a smile that made Tonks think they were in on a rather enormous secret; a secret she and Mad Eye were excluded from. She glanced at Mad-Eye, who was looking just as confused by the days' events as Tonks.

"Wrackspurts bothering you?" Aislinne asked seriously. Tonks and Mad-Eye shared another confused look, and Aislinne swiped the air around them. "The kitchen's full of them, I'm afraid; they like the smell of paint. Here, we'll talk in my study. Would you mind putting the kettle on, Luna, my love?"

Luna nodded and went straight to a cupboard and pulled out the strangest kettle Tonks had ever seen; it looked a bit like a jellyfish. She and Mad-Eye had time for one confused look before they were led into another room, lined with bookshelves. A large, intricately carved desk took up the majority of the space – Tonks noticed several large scorch marks on the wood's surface – and most of the floor space was taken up by bizarre looking instruments that reminded Tonks of Dumbledore's office. These were wooden, however, not silver.

"Have a seat, please," Aislinne said, gestureing to a pair of mismatched chairs. One was a large, squishy armchair, and the other was some sort of bar stool. Aislinne noticed her looking at them and added, "I find a different seat can be more conductive to my research," she explained, sitting down in a normal desk chair on the far side of the desk. Tonks was beginning to feel confused enough about all of this that she actually waited for Mad-Eye to cast his charms before she sat.

"What do you know about Fenrir Greyback?" Mad-Eye asked.

"Ooh, lots," Aislinne said, looking impressed with the turn the conversation had taken. "He's – or he was – Europe's most notorious werewolf- Did you know that a werewolf can smell if you're happy or sad, the way a cat or dog can, even when they're human?"

"We did, yes," Mad-Eye told her.

"It would be incredibly useful, don't you think?" she continued, looking thoughtful. "My husband published an article in his magazine about it, but we reached the conclusion that the advantages of the heightened senses might not be worth the pain of transformation. Still, you've got to wonder, don't you?"

"I suppose," Tonks said, when Mad-Eye didn't say anything.

"Sorry," Aislinne said, scratching a spot of paint off her wrist. She swatted at the air, like she had in the kitchen. "Stray wrackspurt. This room's mostly warded against them, but occasionally one will sneak through on a host." She looked at Mad-Eye. "I think this one was yours. Do you feel any different than you did a few moments ago?"

"Stay on topic, please, Lovegood," Mad-Eye said, and Tonks suspected if he'd answered her earlier question that the answer might not have been appropriate for polite conversation.

"Oh, Greyback," Aislinne said. "Of course, sorry. Well, I think he's a rather nasty piece of work, and I must say it's probably a good thing he's gone-"

"You're happy he's dead?"

"Happy's a strong word," she said, shaking her blond head. "I think excited is a better word. He'd made such an enormous mess of everything here... the poor man started off promoting equality, which is, in my opinion, a rather admirable cause, but he got lost somewhere along the way. Very easy to do, unfortunately, and he hurt a lot of people. He can have a fresh start in death, and so can the people he's hurt. In life, in their case," she added.

"And you make spells for a living?" Mad-Eye asked.

"I do," Aislinne said, looking curious.

"Dangerous work, that," Mad-Eye said.

"Oh, it can be, I suppose," she said, "but someone's got to do it, and I enjoy it charms-"

"Charms?" Mad-Eye asked.

"I've always been rather useless at transfiguration," she confided, looking a little put-out. "It's a shame, really, because it means I have to find all sorts of other, far more complicated ways around things that should be simple, but I've just never been good with change." Tonks and Mad-Eye shared a long look.

"Mrs Lovegood, your husband's articles are very detailed," Tonks said, glancing at Mad-Eye, who gestured for her to ask away. "We were wondering where you got your information from-"

"It's well researched, I'll have you know," she said, a little coolly. "All of Xenophillius' work is."

"That's what we mean," Tonks said hastily. "It's obvious you've got an inside source – maybe one of Greyback's victims?"

"Perhaps," Aislinne said, smiling suddenly, but she looked disappointed a moment later. "I can't give you a name, I'm afraid. Our source is absolutely fascinating from a research perspective, and lovely from a conversational one-"

"We have some questions for her," Mad-Eye said. Aislinne looked troubled and then shook her head.

"I can't help you, I'm afraid."

"This is an official investigation-"

"And I'm required to answer your questions truthfully, which I've done," she said serenely. "I can't and won't give up my source." She clasped her hands, looking decisive, but genuinely sorry. "I'm sorry to be obstructive. If you have any other questions, I'll be happy to answer them, but otherwise, I have a kitchen to get back to." There was a soft knock on the door and Tonks turned and spied Luna, who was carrying a tray laden with steaming mugs. "Would you like your tea before you go?" she asked.

Tonks sniffed – the tea was a bright blue, which was concerning – and wrinkled her nose. Her sense of smell wasn't as good as Remus', but it was good enough to know when something smelled like it definitely shouldn't be ingested.

"Erm," she said, glancing at Mad-Eye, who seemed to have reached the same conclusion.

"No, we've got other places to be," he said. "Thank you for the talk."

"Not a problem," Aislinne said, taking a sip from her cup. "Good luck with your investigation." Luna showed them out and gave them a cheery wave before disappearing back inside. Tonks turned to Mad-Eye.

"Interesting, wasn't it?" she asked mildly. Mad-Eye snorted and waved his wand. "What-"

"It'll let me know if she sends any letters, and who they're to," Mad-Eye said.

"So you don't think it was her?" Tonks asked.

"Do you?" Mad-Eye asked, and she shook her head. "Good. You've got the instincts." Tonks beamed, but she was starting to feel ill again; if it wasn't Aislinne, she had some idea who their murderer might be, and she didn't like the idea any more than she had that morning.

* * *

"Padfoot." Sirius jerked awake when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"For Merlin's sake, Kreacher!" he groaned. "We've talk-"

"It's Harry," Harry said. The small, dark shape standing beside his bed shifted.

"Harry, it's the middle of the night."

"I know. I just... Sorry." Sirius sat up with a sigh and rubbed his eyes.

"What's bothering you?" Harry was quiet for a long time. Sirius yawned and patted the bed beside him, and Harry accepted the invitation and sat. "Are you feeling all right? Does your neck-"

"It's fine."

"Erm... bad dream?" Sirius asked, smothering another yawn.

"Do you think of me as my mum or dad?" he blurted. Sirius squinted at him, but it was too dark to make out Harry's expression. He considered lighting his wand, but he suspected he'd just end up blinding them both. Instead, he sniffed, and was disconcerted to find that Harry smelled worried, and also a little guilty.

"What makes you think that?" he asked finally.

"Something Snape-" Sirius groaned before he could even finish, and Harry bristled.

"Kiddo, no," he said. "I won't lie and say that you don't remind me of them from time to time... but no. More often than not, I look at you and I see the differences... you only have to look at your form to know you're not a copy of James, and Lily's wand doesn't work for you anywhere near as well as Prongs' did."

"You're always saying that I'm like them, though."

Sirius smiled at touch sadly. It was only to himself, and maybe to James and Lily if they were somehow watching, because there was no way Harry would be able to see it.

"You are, and that's probably the highest praise I can give you."

"So I'm like them, but not?" Harry asked, shifting beside him.

"Pretty much," Sirius said. "You were young enough when I took you from the Dursleys that I had to be the responsible one." He smiled wryly, and when he realised Harry couldn't see that, he snorted. Harry smelled amused. "That in itself is a huge difference, because I was always the one that needed them to look after me." Harry was silent. "At the risk of sounding like a complete sap," Sirius added, glad that it was Harry and not James he was having this conversation with, "you have your similarities, like I said – particularly in the way you look, but if you were enough like them that I could mistake you for them – either of them, in some shape or way - then I wouldn't miss them as much as I do."

Harry lapsed into a thoughtful sort of silence after that, but fell asleep before he could actually voice whatever conclusion he'd reached. Sirius chuckled, tucked some of the extra covers around him, and rolled onto his side, hoping to go back to sleep, but no such luck; the thoughts bouncing around in his head were too noisy to ignore.

* * *

Sirius took a deep breath and knocked once, gently, on the dark wood of Snape's office door. He rocked back onto his heels, waiting, and when no one answered it for almost a minute, he knocked again.

"Yes?" he heard, as the door was yanked open. Snape's dark eyes flicked up to his face, and Sirius only had time to open his mouth before the door slammed shut, narrowly missing his nose.

"Snape!" he called. He heard footsteps stomping away from the door, and growled under his breath. "Snape!" He knocked again, and then paused in to listen; the office had fallen silent. Sirius sighed and crossed to the other side of the corridor, where he folded his arms and leaned against the cold, damp dungeon wall. "I'd like to talk if you've got a moment," Sirius said loudly, but was met with no reply. "I'd like to apologise."

The door opened and Snape's glowering face appeared in the gap. Sirius immediately held up his hands to show he wasn't holding a wand.

"Do get on with it, then," he sneered. It was a tone that usually got a rise out of Sirius, but not today. He took a deep breath and gave the other man an unimpressed look. For a moment, Snape seemed to be at a loss. "_Some_ of us have important things to do today."

"I'm sorry," Sirius said, sincerely, and wondered what James would think of him if he could see this. The fact that he didn't know what James' response would be, was more daunting than the task itself. He swallowed, and wiped his hands on his robes. "I- we were kids, when this started." He gestured between them. "And kids can be stupid. Teenagers too, but they should know better. Adults definitely should-"

"The point, Black."

"The point, Snape," Sirius sighed, "is that this stupid grudge has been going on since we were eleven! House prejudices turned into hexing and insults and me almost getting you killed because I wasn't thinking, and you not helping me when you _knew_ where Peter was-"

"I knew nothing of the kin-"

"Harry overheard you talking to my cousin. You knew," Sirius said. Snape's face was unreadable. "I'm saying I'm done," Sirius said. "I'm sorry, and-"

"Done? Sorry?" Snape drawled. "You think that you can just apologise and all will be forgiven? I suffered years of torment at the hands of your little friends, and you almost had me killed-"

"A favour you did your best to return during the war," Sirius said coolly, and sighed. "No, I don't think an apology is enough to fix everything. I don't think anything is; James saved your life, and you still loathed him." Snape scowled. "And I don't think we'll ever be friends, or ever like each other, but I'm sick of making an arse out of myself. Lily hated James for years because he made an arse of himself whenever you were around, and I'll be damned if I'm going to let Harry hate me because of the same thing-"

"Ah, so Potter's miniature told you to apologi-"

"He doesn't even know I'm here," Sirius snapped. He took a deep breath. "And I intend to keep it that way. I don't want praise for this. This is an apology that shouldn't have had to happen in the first place, because things _shouldn't have _been allowed to get so far out of hand." Snape considered him for a long moment. "I'm not kidding," Sirius said.

"Apparently not." Snape's lip curled. "Dare I ask why this pathetic attempt at reconciliation matters to you? I'm a Death Eater, remember? You don't trust me, and you don't value our non-existent friendship-"

"You got a trial," Sirius said quietly.

"Oh, yes," Snape said nastily. "So suddenly you care what the Ministry-"

"I don't care what the Ministry thinks," Sirius said. "But Dumbledore trusts you. And I hate that," he admitted, with a wry grin. "I hate that he vouched for you, and I hate that you got to walk free after everything you did. But you know what I've realised? Everyone thought I'd done something terrible, and that was all it took for Dumbledore to stop trusting me." His voice was a little bitter, but he couldn't help it.

"You, on the other hand," Sirius continued, "never had his trust. And he vouched for you. He didn't speak up for me – a man he knew and had trusted - but he did for you. And you can call Dumbledore old, or senile, or whatever the hell you want to call him, but he's not stupid. And if he was willing to trust you enough to put his neck on the line by championing you, then whatever you did, or whatever you told him must have been good-"

"I have no idea what you're talking about-"

"Oh, you do," Sirius said. Snape shifted, looking uncomfortable for the first time.

"I'm not telling you," he said.

"I never asked you to." Snape blinked.

"No," he said slowly. They stared at each other for a long time. They were still rivals – the amount of resentment coming off of Snape was threatening to make Sirius sneeze – but the hatred was gone, or at least absent from this conversation. Snape's scent shifted abruptly, to curious confusion. "So what do you want from this, Black, if not my forgiveness?" The mocking tone was back, but Sirius didn't care.

"I want you to know I'm done with this stupid feud, and that I'm sorry."

"That's it?"

"That's it," Sirius agreed.

"No favours? No expectations?"

"None, whatsoever," Sirius said, putting his hands up. He waited, half-hoping that Snape would attempt to apologise, but he didn't. He still seemed to be trying to adjust to the idea that Sirius didn't have an ulterior motive. Sirius ran a hand through his hair, wondering, yet again, what James would think. Well aware that it would likely be ignored, Sirius offered his hand. "Not enemies?" he said.

Snape stared at his hand, as if he'd never heard of a handshake before. Sirius shifted, and after almost a minute, cleared his throat and started to lower it... and then Snape shook; very briefly, and with a revolted look on his face, but he shook, and he didn't try to break Sirius' fingers in the process.

"Not friends either," Snape drawled. He released Sirius' hand, wiped his own on his robes and stalked back into his office. The door slammed shut behind him.


	62. Evaluating Options

"Maybe something about a pack," Harry said, staring up at the ceiling of the library.

Sirius, who was flipping through a book on dark magic – more out of habit than out of hope of actually finding anything to destroy the Horcrux – glanced over.

"A pack?" he asked.

"Mmm," Harry said. He rolled over and scribbled something down onto a piece of parchment that was already covered in words and scratched out sentences that would hopefully form his Animagus incantation. James, Lily and even Remus had always had very neat handwriting; Harry had taken after Sirius with his semi-legible writing. "Like you, me and Moony. We're all dogs, or wolves, so it's a pack." Sirius ducked his head so Harry wouldn't see the slightly sappy grin that had spread across his face. Things had been a bit... strained was the wrong word, but the best one Sirius could find... between him and Harry over the past week, after the Snape incident, but Harry still considered him family, if nothing else. "What do you think?"

"I think that sounds like it could work," he said, trying to sound casual. "Maybe-"

"Hoot," Remus said, appearing in the doorway. Cradled precariously in his arms were about fifty envelopes.

"Post's here," Sirius told Harry, chuckling. "Is Dumbledore getting you to distribute Hogwarts letters, this year?" Sirius asked. "You've got enough there." Remus scowled, and threw the pile at Sirius, who managed to catch two, get poked in the eye by one, and missed the others entirely; they fluttered to the floor. Harry crawled over and scraped them into a messy pile, while Sirius swore and muttered rude things about Remus under his breath. Remus glanced up sharply, and looked at Harry, but he didn't seem to have heard. Sirius wasn't looking forward to having to censor himself once Harry had excellent hearing too. "How was lunch?" he asked Remus, who'd flopped down onto the couch.

A grin – probably not dissimilar to the one Sirius had been wearing a moment ago – appeared for a brief moment – making Sirius roll his eyes; Remus was still oblivious. Harry saw the expression and made a sound like he was smothering a laugh before he promptly buried his face in the carpet. Sirius watched his shoulders shake, but Remus hadn't noticed; he was frowning now.

"It was good," he said, "but I'm concerned." Sirius waited, and Harry passed him the stack of envelopes, watching Remus curiously all the while. "She's worrying about something. Has been all week, I think, but whatever it is, is really getting to her. She looked tired."

"Did you ask her about it?" Sirius asked.

"Well, no," Remus said, shifting. Sirius rolled his eyes again.

"So now you're both worrying – her about whatever her problem is, and you about her." Remus blinked. "You could offer to listen," he continued. "She's allowed to say no, if she doesn't want to share." Remus made a non-committal noise, and gestured to the letters in front of Sirius.

"Anything interesting?" he asked. Sirius arched an eyebrow to show that no, he hadn't missed Remus' rather obvious attempt to change the topic, but didn't comment. He sifted through the pile, and frowned.

"Half of these are for you," he said.

"I couldn't be bothered sorting them at home," he said.

"Do you want them?"

"Burn them," Remus told him, making Harry chuckle. "They're probably all hate mail anyway, or petitions, or job offers." Sirius grimaced; Remus had had two job offers; one from a jewellery place in Knockturn Alley that specialised in silver, and one from the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, asking Remus to join the Werewolf Registry Office.

Sirius used his wand to cut an envelope open. Gingerly, he extracted a piece of heavily perfumed, pale pink parchment and held it at arm's length. "_Dear Sirius_," he read aloud. "_I know it's been years since we've corresponded, but your newfound innocence has inspired me to try to renew our_ _connection. I've been thinking about how unfairly you were treated by the Ministry, and, while I can't speak for all of them, I'm of the opinion that you should be... compensated. I, personally, was thinking-_" Sirius cut off, choking.

"Thinking what?" Harry asked, as Sirius cast a hasty _Incendio _and destroyed the letter.

"Never you mind," he muttered, shocked and embarrassed. Remus was having trouble stifling his laughter, and Sirius shot a rude hand gesture in his direction when Harry wasn't looking.

"What was in it?" Harry persisted.

"I'll tell you when you're older," Sirius said firmly, choosing a normal, parchment envelope. Harry wrinkled his nose, apparently catching on, and nodded. Sirius cut that one and got a scent of something bitter – which set his instincts on edge at once – but the curse triggered before he could react.

There was a cracking sound as the bones in his hands snapped. Sirius swore, tears springing into his eyes, and his wand and the envelope dropped onto the desk.

"_Finite,"_ Remus said, almost immediately, but it did nothing, and Sirius' wrists were next. His vision flickered and he heard Remus try another countercharm. Pressure started to build in his forearms, and he clenched his teeth, preparing for the breaks. Harry shouted something, and light blinded Sirius, but then the feeling in his arms faded. He sagged in his chair, breathing through his teeth.

Remus was already crouching beside him, casting charms to dull the pain, and other ones to inspect the damage. Harry vanished with a pop and returned a few seconds later with their post-full moon supplies.

"The Skele-gro bottle, please, Harry," Remus said. Sirius groaned; Skele-gro was foul stuff, and it itched and ached like mad. Remus conjured a glass and filled it halfway. Then he held it to Sirius' mouth and Sirius reluctantly gulped it down.

"Bloody hell," Sirius gasped, trying to keep the potion down. Remus helped him drink a glass of water after that, thankfully.

"It's not that bad," Remus said.

"It's awful," Sirius choked, and Remus smiled wryly.

"And yet you feed it to me monthly," he said, looking amused.

"Only if the break's too tricky to fix with a wand," Sirius countered, wincing as heat raced through his hands. "And that's not often these days." Remus smiled and nodded, to concede his loss, and Sirius poked his tongue out.

"I don't think that looks right to me," Remus said pointedly, obviously mock-offended by the gesture. He unscrewed the cap of the Skele-gro bottle and held it up rather menacingly, poised to pour. "I'd better give you another dose, just in case-"

Sirius clamped his mouth shut, and lifted his arms up to fend Remus off, but without the use of his hands, or being able to bend his wrists, he knew he'd lose if Remus actually decided to make him drink. Sirius considered his options and did the only thing he could; put his head down onto the desk, and managed to do so without jolting his healing hands too badly.

It had seemed like a clever idea – fool-proof even – but he hadn't noticed the pile of ashes that had replaced the cursed envelope and the book Sirius had been reading. A cloud of black billowed up around his head, making him sneeze. Remus and Harry burst out laughing, and Sirius kept his eyes shut tightly, grateful they hadn't been open when his face hit the desk.

"_S-scourgify,_" Remus managed, apparently taking pity on him. There was a scrubbing sensation on Sirius' face and then it stopped and he deemed it safe to look up. Harry was sniggering, but Remus had pulled himself together. Sirius rubbed his wrist on his shoulder – very gently – because it was starting to itch. "Are you all right?"

Sirius wriggled his fingers very carefully. They were rather stiff, but not sore anymore, though he didn't feel brave enough to move his wrists just yet.

"Never better," he grumbled. Needless to say, they were far more careful sorting through the letters after that. Sirius refused to let Harry help at all, and sent him to the other side of the room to keep working on his Animagus incantation. Harry went rather reluctantly, and didn't work at all; instead, he rolled his wand between his fingers, and kept an eye on Sirius and Remus.

None of the other letters were anywhere near as eventful, however. Someone had sent Remus an envelope filled with some sort of potion, but both he and Sirius smelled it and were able to incinerate it before it could cause any problems. Sirius received a whole stack of fan and hate mail, three interview requests – which he promptly destroyed – and an envelope with the D.M.L.E. coat of arms on it. The last, he inspected curiously, and cast a few charms on before he deemed it safe enough to open.

The parchment that fell out was crinkled, as if the sender had changed their mind and scrunched it up before changing their mind again.

_Mr Black, _

_I am writing on the behalf of someone mutually known to the both of us. I know you don't owe either of us anything, but I could really use the help._

_Yours sincerely, _

_Gawain Robards._

Robards hadn't used official Ministry parchment, nor had he signed with his position and office; he'd only used his name. Sirius re-read the letter and knew the 'someone' could only be Marlene. His stomach clenched unpleasantly. He hadn't seen her for over a month – not since she'd been guarding him and Harry in the Ministry holding cells – but things had been understandably tense between them. She hadn't even come to his trial, though he suspected she had something to do with Peter showing up, since her mentor was the one who'd brought him into the courtroom.

_Still, _he thought, uneasily. _Why does he need _my _help?_ After a few moments of thought – permeated only by a headshake at Harry and Remus, who were looking troubled – he reached the conclusion that he knew Marlene better than anyone... Dumbledore, McGonagall, Mad-Eye or even Robards himself knew her, of course, but not as well as Sirius. And even Sirius didn't know her as well as he'd used to. _Who else _could _Robards ask for help? _Sirius wondered. He toyed with Amelia for a moment, but he was fairly sure that Robards would have tried her before Sirius.

Sirius shoved the letter into the pocket of his jeans and stood.

"Padfoot?" Harry asked, sitting up. Remus was watching him warily. Sirius scratched his aching wrists and then pushed his chair back under the desk.

"I'm going to the park," he said. "Either of you want to come?"

* * *

"Is Marlene okay?" Remus asked, sitting down on the bench next to Sirius. Sirius tore his eyes away from Number Thirteen – which he'd been staring at for the last ten minutes – and gave Remus a rather guilty look. Then he tossed a piece of parchment at Remus, which Remus read and passed back, his suspicions confirmed. "Are you going to see him?" Sirius shrugged.

"I probably shouldn't," he said, his eyes now fixed on Harry, who was sitting on a patch of grass, watching something near his trainer-covered feet. Remus thought he was listening to their conversation; his head was tilted too far in their direction for it to be coincidental.

"He's right that you don't owe her anything," Remus said, to test Sirius' reaction. As he'd expected, Sirius rounded on him, looking furious.

"I know things haven't been _friendly_ between her and me lately," he said in a low voice, "but if she's in trouble..." He shook his head. "She's still an old Order member – she's still family – and she doesn't have anyone else!"

"No, probably not," Remus agreed calmly.

"I'd do it for anyone – you, obviously, Amelia, Bean, Dung, Em-"

"I know you would," Remus said, holding up his hands. Sirius seemed to have expected an argument of some sort, and looked bewildered when none were forthcoming. Sirius glanced at Number Thirteen again, and then quickly away. His eyes landed on a cluster of children on the other side of the park. Most of them were wearing brightly coloured hats – Remus assumed it was a birthday gathering of some sort – and were also still wearing their school uniforms.

"We're family," Sirius said, his eyes drifting from the laughing children, to Harry, who was sitting quietly, watching the birthday party too. "If it was Reg, I'd help him, even though we didn't always see eye to eye." Remus helpfully didn't point out that Regulus was dead, and had been for years.

"Reg never tried to kill you," he said quietly, glancing at Harry to make sure he wasn't overheard; Sirius hadn't told Harry the full story, which Remus thought was probably for the best.

"D'you think he's lonely?" Sirius asked.

"Erm," Remus said, thrown, "well, er... I'm sure your parents are with him again – if you believe in that sort of thing – and James and Lily will be watching out for-"

"Not Reg," Sirius said, looking exasperated. "Harry." Harry's eyes were still fixed on the kids on the other side of the park – they were singing a cheerful chorus of 'Happy Birthday' – and he was wearing the strangest expression. It was a little curious, but also sad, and guilty and embarrassed.

"_Oh_," Remus said. "You shouldn't have changed the subject so abruptly-"

"'If you believe that sort of thing'," Sirius chuckled. "Honestly."

"Do you?" Remus asked. Sirius looked surprised, and then, looking a little sheepish, nodded.

"You?" Remus inclined his head, and they shared an awkward look and then glanced away. "So," Remus said, digging up a chunk of grass with the tip of his shoe, "Harry?"

"Yeah," Sirius said, seizing the topic with relief. "Harry."

"And his loneliness," Remus agreed.

"Exactly," Sirius said, and then sighed. "He hasn't said anything, but I've wondered..."

"He's got you and Kreacher, and me," Remus said.

"Yeah, a lunatic house elf-" Sirius said this far more fondly than Remus had expected, despite knowing how far Sirius and Kreacher's relationship had come. "-the world's most irresponsible godfather – who was on the run from the law until very recently – and-"

"A werewolf?" Remus suggested, chuckling.

"I was going to say overly mature, overly studious godmother," Sirius said, shrugging. Remus chuckled. "I mean, we have fun – I know we do – and thanks to Azkaban, I'm really only twenty three..." He gave Remus a grin that made him look twenty three, instead of thirty. "But I'm not a kid anymore. I can't be, because Harry needs a guardian more than he needs a sibling... for the moment anyway." Remus rather thought that Sirius was a bit of both, but was curious about what Sirius had to say, and didn't mention it. "But he needs a friend or something," Sirius continued. "Someone his own age. I had Reg, growing up-"

"James and I didn't have anyone," Remus pointed out. "And neither did Pete." There was a moment of silence after Peter's name – Remus wondered, briefly, how he was coping in Azkaban, and was sure Sirius was doing the same - and then Sirius nodded.

"No, you didn't." Sirius clenched his fists; Remus didn't think it was an angry gesture, but rather one that was to try to stop the ache that Skele-gro usually left as a parting gift. "And I know for a fact that Jamie was lonely before Hogwarts, and over the holidays. Why do you think he wrote to us all so much? And you can't tell me that _you_ never wanted a friend-"

"Friends were an impossibility for me back then," Remus said, staring at the party-goers again. "I was too dangerous." Sirius punched his arm, and then swore and clutched his hand. Remus chuckled before he could stop himself, but his amusement was quickly replaced by concern. "Are you all right? You haven't re-broken anything, have you?"

"Bloody git," Sirius muttered, inspecting his hand. Remus hid another smile. "And no, I haven't. It's just tender." Sirius wriggled his fingers and then shook his hands. "A second opinion would be nice, you know," he muttered, after a moment.

"Let's see, then," Remus said, trying to get a look at Sirius' hands.

"For Merlin's sake, Moony!" Sirius said, looking exasperated again, and this time, smacked the side of his head. "Worth it," he said, before Remus could express any worry about his hands. "An opinion about _Harry_."

"I think him being lonely is possible," Remus said after a moment's thought. "He seemed to enjoy his time with the younger Weasleys when they broke into Amelia's office, and I know he didn't like Hydrus Malfoy, and had mixed opinions about Draco, but I do think he appreciated the company, regardless."

"That's what I thought too."

"You've already thought about it?" Remus asked, a little surprised.

"Quite a bit," Sirius admitted. "When we were first living together, he told me he didn't want to go to school, and I agreed – because he didn't want to – but when I thought about it more, I realised it was too risky to let him out of the house – and have him away from me – when we were in hiding. Keeping to ourselves was a necessity, and he never complained, so I let it be. Ever since the trial, though, I've started to wonder..."

"You could always ask, you know," Remus said.

"I know," Sirius said.

"Then why haven't you?"

"Because I don't have a solution to offer yet." He grimaced. "If he is lonely, then I want to be able to say something other than, 'thanks for telling me, but bad luck for the time being, kiddo'."

The children were now playing chasey – some had retained their party hats, but the majority were lying in the grass, like bizarre, conical flowers – and squealing on the other side of the park. Remus watched them, and then looked at Sirius.

"School," he said.

"School?" Sirius asked, flatly. "Like those stupid little Hogwarts preparation classes they run in Hogsmeade?" Remus blinked.

"They run what?"

"Classes," Sirius said. "Where you learn about the subjects and the Houses and how to hold your wand properly – which is pretty pointless if you ask me, because pretty much every teacher covers that in the first lesson anyway-"

"They have classes before Hogwarts? Like- like wizarding primary school?"

"Yeah," Sirius said, "but they're rubbish, which is why everyone learns from home, or gets a tutor."

"Did you go?"

"_No_," Sirius said. "My parents hired a tutor when I turned eleven." He smiled and Remus just knew it had ended badly.

"What happened?"

"I set her on fire," Sirius said, grimacing. "It was accidental magic!" he added, hastily. "I didn't _mean_ to, but... well, these things happen..." He shrugged in a sheepish, but not at all remorseful sort of way. "Peter went."

"To the classes?" Remus asked, wondering how he'd never known this.

"Yep," Sirius said. "Seemed really proud of it too – he tried to tell me how to hold my wand on the first morning, and he had this stupid little song that went with it – and so James and I sat him down and told him he should never talk about those lessons or anything he'd learned from them if he wanted to make it through his first day of _real _school."

_Oh, _Remus thought. _That's how._

"But that's obviously not what you meant, is it?" Sirius asked slowly. "You didn't even know they existed." Remus shook his head, and Sirius squinted at him. "So what were you talking about?"

* * *

"Nymphadora, come here, for a moment, before you go running off," Mum said. Tonks poked her head into the sitting room. Mum was waving her wand over clothes to iron them – Dad had bought her a muggle iron for Christmas two years ago, and Mum hadn't even tried it – and gestured with her free hand for Tonks to sit down. Tonks did. "Not on the arm of the chair," Mum said, looking irritated, as she reached for another of Dad's shirts. Tonks slid off the arm of the chair rather ungracefully, and ended up on her back on the seat of the chair.

"Better?" she asked. Mum rolled her eyes, but a smile was tugging at her lips.

"How's training been?" Mum said, after a moment. Tonks' heart sank. "I've hardly seen you, so it must be busy at the moment..." This was followed by a sideways look.

"Pretty busy, yeah," Tonks said, a little uncomfortably; she couldn't remember the last time she and Mum had had a conversation that extended beyond what was for dinner, or could Tonks _please_ stop Apparating into the house? "Exams are coming up."

"And then holidays?"

"Sort of," Tonks said. "Only in August, and it's not really a holiday. Normal lectures and things are cancelled, but I'll still have to tag along with Mad-Eye on specific cases... I was thinking of going to see Charlie and Tom, though." That made Mum smile.

"How are they?"

"Good, I think," Tonks said. "They're both still completely useless when it comes to writing, so it's hard to tell, but neither of them have been eaten yet, so I s'pose that's good." Mum laughed and started on a pair of Tonks' robes.

"And how are you?" Mum asked.

"Me?" Tonks asked. "Fine. Why?" Mum set her wand down and planted her hands on her hips. Tonks felt those grey eyes on the side of her face and reluctantly met them. "What?"

"You've been down, lately," Mum said. "Quieter. Is it something to do with a boy?" Mum cleared her throat and gave Tonks a significant look. "Or a man, even?"

"What?" Tonks asked, bewildered. "No, it's just some Auror stuff that's starting to get to me. It's nothing." That was a blatant lie; the whole Smoky-is-Florence thing had been eating a hole in Tonks' conscience for just over a week now, and she'd resolved to do something about it today... she just didn't know what.

"Are you still enjoying it?" Mum asked. "You know when you first joined, I worried that you might not be able to-"

"I can handle it," Tonks snapped, and Mum bristled.

"Don't you take that tone with me, Nymphadora Gladys Tonks," Mum said, lifting her wand in warning. "You're obviously stressed at the moment but that doesn't mean I'll tolerate you being rude."

"Don't call me Nymphadora," Tonks grumbled, feeling guilty.

"I'll call you whatever I want to," Mum said firmly, ironing the creases out of another pair of robes. "So what's this Auror stuff that's bothering you?"

"I'm not supposed to talk about it," she said.

"This is me, though. Come on, I'll bet all of your friends know," Mum said, arching an eyebrow.

"Actually they don't," Tonks said.

"Oh," Mum said, apparently thrown. Tonks thought shock was a fair response; generally Tonks was reasonably open about her problems, so it meant it was something important if it was being kept a secret. "All right, sweetheart," Mum said, looking troubled. "I'll leave Auror things to you, then, all right?" Tonks smiled, grateful it was Mum she was having this conversation with; she and Dad probably saw eye to eye on more issues than she and Mum did, but Dad would have tired to convince her to open up and ask for help. Mum, as a Slytherin, usually knew when to back off and let other people deal with their own problems.

"Sounds good to me," Tonks said. She whispered her Sidekick's passcode and checked the time. "Bugger," she said, and Mum opened her mouth to tell her off. Tonks slid off the couch and bounced to her feet. "I'd better go, or I'll be late," she said over the top of Mum's voice. She kissed Mum's cheek. "Love you!"

"Nymphador-"

But Tonk had already turned on the spot. The living room melted around her and became the alley around the corner from the visitor's entrance to the Ministry.

"All right," she told herself. "By the time I get to Level Two, I will have decided."

She took a deep breath and climbed into the phonebox. Giving herself a deadline seemed to have helped a bit; she wasn't coming in for training (that wasn't until that afternoon) but Florence and Yaxley were studying in one of the lecture theatres, and had extended the offer for Tonks to join them. Mad-Eye was in his office, with their list of blue-magic wielding suspects. She could go to him, or she could go to Florence, and she'd been distant with both lately, so there'd be questions, she was sure of it. And she'd have to give answers.

It was Mad-Eye she went to, as had probably been inevitable. He didn't look up when she walked in, but she thought his eye was probably trained on her through the top of his head.

"Nymphadora," he said, and then he did look up.

"Sir," she said nervously. An odd expression settled itself on his face, one that was hopeful and wary all at once. "I- It's Florence. Florence Prewett," she managed, before her nerve broke. Mad-Eye gestured for her to sit.

"I know," he said.

"You what?" Tonks whispered, glad that she had sat, or her legs might have given way.

"I know. Have for a few days. Prewett's Lovegood's cousin, which is how she knew her and was able to organise the first interview. And Lovegood's a good sort as far as upholding confidentiality, but the way she defended Smoky's identity made me think it was personal. And I was right. Prewett's on the list, had access to Greyback – as well as motive if she's a werewolf, and because of Clarke's death – and she got an O for her Transfiguration N.E.W.T.; fourth highest score we've ever had, behind Potter, you and Black, so she's capable."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I almost did," Mad-Eye said. "Then I realised that you already knew, and I wanted to see how you'd handle it."

"A test?" she asked weakly. "I haven't slept for days, and I've been worrying and, and- and it was a test?!"

"Prewett's involvement isn't," Mad-Eye said, looking grim. "But your response was." Tonks couldn't even find the energy to be angry.

"Did I pass?" she asked.

"It's never that easy," he sighed.

"So what do we do?" she asked in a small voice.

"We talk to her," Mad-Eye said. "And then we go from there."

"I'll help," Tonks said. "I want to know why."

"You'll find out why," Mad-Eye said grimly. "But you'll do that from the sidelines. I'll be asking the questions."

* * *

"Your wand," Mad-Eye said, holding his hand out. Florence produced her wand slowly and pressed it into his scarred hand. Then she sat down, folded her ankles and clasped her hands in her lap. Tonks closed Mad-Eye's office door and cast a few charms to prevent eavesdropping, and also locked it.

"I'm not running," Florence said, glancing at Tonks over her shoulder. "You don't need to lock it."

"Do you know why you're here?" Mad-Eye growled.

"I know," Florence said quietly.

"You're accused of Fenrir Greyback's murder," Mad-Eye said. Florence said nothing. Tonks felt like crying, because her silence was as good as a confession. Tonks conjured herself a chair and sat down, hugging her knees to her chest. Mad-Eye gave her a look, and she unfolded herself – reluctantly – and earned a small nod. "I don't need to tell you how serious this is, do I?"

"No," she murmured. "But given the circumstances, I think-"

"Circumstances?" Mad-Eye asked.

"Give who it was," Florence said, with a rather flinty look in her eye.

"Murder's wrong, no matter the victim," Mad-Eye said.

"Have you ever killed anyone, Auror Moody?"

"I'm not the one answering questions," Mad-Eye said, and it was obvious that he had. Tonks hugged her knees again, and this time, Mad-Eye didn't tell her off.

"During the war?" Florence asked, and Mad-Eye, surprisingly, nodded. "Because you had to? To save someone?"

"In the heat of the moment, because I had no other choice," Mad-Eye said. "You had a choice-"

"He'd already killed Melvin," Florence said. "He's bitten over a hundred, and killed probably just as many others. It might not be war in the conventional sense, sir, but it's still war. It's high casualties, caused by one git with an inflated sense of self-importance, and it's been drawn out over twenty years instead of two, but that doesn't make it any less horrible."

"It doesn't justify killing-"

"You fought in the war," she said. "If you'd had a clear shot at You-Know-Who, would you honestly have left it, because 'killing is wrong'?"

"Murder's-"

"Murder's wrong, certainly-" Florence said, over the top of Mad-Eye, while Tonks stared between them; it was like watching Chasers pass a Quaffle back and forward. "-so why is the death of one such a big issue?"

"Greyback may have been a murderer, but he was restrained, and not in a position to threaten anybody," Mad-Eye growled, looking a little flustered. "He wasn't dangerous at the-"

"Wasn't dangerous?!" Florence said, looking angry. "He's always dangerous! He doesn't need a wand to hurt people!" Tonks remembered the attack on Matt in London, and shuddered.

"He was already being punished for his crimes-"

"In Azkaban?" Florence asked, rolling her eyes. "Greyback's not human enough to be affected enough by Dementors for it to have punished him at all. He wouldn't have liked it, obviously, but he'd have been back to his normal, monstrous self within a week of being let out."

"He might have changed-"

"Azkaban's a prison, not a correctional facility!" Florence snapped. "If you really believe people can change, then why was Sirius Black's escape such a big issue? He spent seven years there; surely he should have changed if anyone was going to! You know as well as I do that Greyback wouldn't have; he'd have come back with a vengeance. I'm not saying I did the right thing – it's morally questionable, I _know_ that – but I don't think it was the _wrong _thing, and I certainly think his death's got more positives associated with it than it does negatives."

Mad-Eye and Tonks shared a despairing look, and Florence folded her arms, watching them with a steely expression.

* * *

**Hi, everyone!**  
**This is just a short message to tell you the next update will come on Sunday the 6th (of October) because I'm away next week. :S  
Sorry! :)  
MarauderLover7.**


	63. An Offer Of Assistance

"So what exactly are you hoping to accomplish here?" Florence asked, lifting her chin. She'd been sitting down for almost an hour - her legs were beginning to cramp – and she had nothing to show for her time; she hadn't been arrested, and she hadn't been freed. All that had happened was that she'd had her morality questioned, been told off, and the three of them had grown steadily more frustrated. Tonks looked at Moody like she too wanted answers. Moody glowered at her, but it was a softer look than the one that had previously been directed at Florence.

"What you did was wrong-"

"No," she snapped, "it wasn't! I picked a side-"

"There are no sides-"

"Obviously there are; if you and that monster that called me 'Daughter' were on the same side, he wouldn't have been arrested! It's your job_not_ to be on his side!"

_And not to be on mine, _she added silently, pleased that Tonks hadn't spoken up to defend her, or challenged Moody on her behalf. She'd worried Tonks might not take her as a serious threat because of how friendly Tonks was with that other wolf, the one who'd been in the papers with Black.

"We can't just let you go," Moody said, his blue eye rolling toward her. His dark one stayed fixed on Tonks, whose shoulders had slumped. Florence felt sorry for the poor girl; with Melvin and McKinnon gone, and her own future starting its inevitable downwards spiral, Tonks would only have Ben and Salacia. An Auror wasn't an easy occupation to choose, but Florence rather thought their group had had a harder first year than most.

"So it's off to Azkaban with me, then?" Florence asked, frowning.

Moody was quiet for a long time, and Tonks' breathing almost stopped. Florence could hear her heart racing, and gave her a small, sad smile. Tonks' face crumpled, and she dropped her eyes. Moody sighed and looked between the two of them.

"It should be. That would be the fair thing to do. Murder's murder." Florence bit her tongue to keep from arguing. She'd made her arguments before – convincing ones, or at least she'd thought so – and didn't see the sense in repeating them.

"Shall I pack a bag then?" Florence asked. She could smell his reluctance – whether it was because he knew arresting her _wasn't _fair, or if it was purely because of Tonks, she didn't know – but she wasn't above playing to that. Moody seemed like the type of man that needed a push in one direction to make him choose the other. "And hand in my letter of resignation?" She watched him carefully, fairly sure that this approach was risk-free. Moody watched back, his expression unhappy.

"You should," he said finally, and Florence's heart skipped a beat. Her arguments had been far too well reasoned for _this_ to be the outcome, and while she'd thought about what would happen if she was caught, she'd never believed that she'd actually be sent to Azkaban. Tonks had squeezed her eyes closed, and her hands were clamped so tightly around each other that they were white-knuckled and shaking slightly.

"Will you enforce that?" Florence asked quietly. Moody barely paused before he answered.

"No," he said, and Florence couldn't help but feel a little smug. She thought, perhaps, that he was hoping her conscience would force her to hand herself in.

_Good luck with that, _she thought sadly. She felt obliged to put herself in a position that best enabled her to serve the wizarding world but beyond that, she had no conscience. What little of it that had remained after Greyback first attacked her had died with him, though that was probably for the best. If she didn't have a conscience, it couldn't be corrupted. All she had to do was stick to the decisions she'd made when she did have one, and she'd be fine.

For a while, anyway. She didn't feel like a monster – except on full moons – but she'd grown up hearing stories, and she'd read enough accounts in books to know that she'd turn one day, and hurt someone.

She didn't have a choice in the matter. All werewolves were like Greyback – that's what everyone said – and just because she wasn't now, didn't mean that she wouldn't be tomorrow, or next week, or next month. _All_ the books said she was a monster, and that many authors couldn't be wrong. If they were, then why were people so prejudiced, so afraid? It was only a matter of time, and she'd already had two years.

She knew she didn't have long left, but she was going to make her time count, and to do that, she needed her job. She needed to save good people, and lock the bad ones away, and with any luck, she'd be killed capturing a criminal. That way her colleagues wouldn't have to deal with her when she went bad. Her eyes found Tonks, who was staring fixedly at the floor. Florence wondered if she might be better off in Azkaban.

_Probably._ But she wasn't ready yet. Getting rid of Greyback was a good contribution, but there were still others out there. Others that had chosen to be monsters, rather than forced into it. And she wanted them behind bars, or dead so that by the time she joined them, _she _was the worst thing out there. She swallowed and looked up at Moody.

"So I can go?"

"You can go... until the end of August," Moody said.

_Three weeks_. Florence's jaw set, but she inclined her head and said nothing.

"You can sit your exams, and you can finish the year so you don't draw attention to yourself. After that, compulsory lessons finish. You'll still have to deal with Finch, but one Auror's better than the Department. Turn yourself in, run for it... How you handle it is up to you, but if you come back on the first of September, I will have you arrested. Am I clear?"

"Perfectly," Florence said. She knew her chances of getting her wand back were non-existent, so she didn't bother asking for it. She stood and headed for the door, already searching for potential loopholes. _Obliviation...?_ she wondered, twisting her mouth. She reached for the handle as Tonks flicked her wand to cancel whatever charms she'd put up, and Florence nodded her thanks and pulled the door open.

Dawlish and a squat woman in pink who'd been involved in the Black trial glanced in her direction as they walked past. Florence didn't like the smell of either of them – conniving and hungry in Dawlish's case, and sickly sweet like poison in the woman's - and decided to walk the other way, but Moody cleared his throat loudly before she'd taken more than a few steps.

"Wait a moment," he said from the doorway, looking thoughtful. She turned, arching an eyebrow, but Moody was silent for a while, as if weighing his options. Then he glanced over his shoulder. "Nymphadora, will you be our Bonder?" Florence stiffened, and caught Moody's scent of grim satisfaction. "All you're going to promise is not to hurt anyone," he said, "or to erase our memories." Florence pursed her lips. "I don't_think_ you're the type, but-"

"-but I killed Greyback and can't be trusted," she said lightly. Moody glanced around, as if she was mad for speaking about it so casually, and Florence cursed herself. The corridor was empty – aside from Dawlish and his companion – but they'd vanished around the corner... they'd fallen silent, however. Florence frowned, and made a few mental estimations. Tentatively, she decided they hadn't been close enough to have heard. Or so she hoped; she was a bit uncertain about normal human hearing after two years with wolf ears. She eyed the corner, but neither reappeared.

"Do I have to?" she asked Moody.

"Constant vigilance." Tonks' voice drifted out of the office and was steadier than Florence had expected.

"Indeed," Florence murmured. She stepped back into the office and offered Moody her small hand.

* * *

"...have this back," Auror Moody said gruffly. "Thank you for your participation, Prewett." There was a pause, and Dolores strained her ears, even though magic was doing the eavesdropping for her. And sweet Salazar, she'd heard things she could make use of. "Sorry it's come to this."

"So am I," the trainee – Prewett – said, though she didn't sound sorry, just tired. "See you tonight." Dolores glanced around the corner and saw the girl who'd admitted to killing Greyback exit Moody's office. The girl set off toward the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office rather slowly, as if her mind was elsewhere. Dolores walked after her.

Prewett turned around almost as soon as she started to move, and her eyes narrowed. She brushed her hair out of her face as spun again, her hand jumping to her pocket. She walked away briskly, but she was shorter than Dolores and not at all difficult to keep pace with.

"Hem hem," Dolores said, and Prewett's shoulders stiffened. She jerked around.

"Are you lost, Madam?"

"No, I'm exactly where I need to be, thank you," Dolores said, smiling. Prewett's eyes flicked over the bow in her hair – Dolores adjusted it absently - and folded her arms. "Have you got a moment, dear?"

"What for?"

"My, the Aurors are raising their recruits to be suspicious these days!" Dolores said with a laugh that she hoped reassured the girl. "I won't bite, dear, I just want to talk. My office is free."

"Who are you?" Prewett asked, not looking impressed. Dolores' smile withered; usually, people knew who she was.

"I am Dolores Umbridge, from the Department of Management and Control of Magical Children and Junior Undersecretary to the Minister." Dolores patted Prewett's arm and gestured toward the lift. "This way, dear."

Dolores suspected Prewett would have refused if she'd been able to find a way to do so politely; she glanced at Moody's office and then sighed and shuffled after Dolores, who was itching to tell the girl to pick up her feet when she walked. She refrained.

Shortly after, they'd settled in Dolores' office and Dolores had set up several privacy wards, because _no one_ could know about their meeting. Prewett eyed the kittens on the walls and curled her lip.

"I would have picked you as a cat person," Dolores said, arching an eyebrow. She tapped her teapot to get the water inside to boil. "Tea?" Prewett shook her head, and Dolores barely managed not to roll her eyes; she'd expect someone with a name as prestigious as Prewett to display basic manners. She reached for the sugar pot. "So you don't like cats?"

"I don't hate them," Prewett offered. She frowned. "Did you really bring me here to talk about cats?"

"Dogs, actually. One in particular." Prewett pursed her lips. "Greyback. He's an acquaintance of yours, I believe?"

"In a sense."

"You killed him," Dolores whispered, adding her fourth spoonful of sugar. The office was quiet, except for the sound of the teaspoon on the side of the teacup. Prewett seemed to be struggling for words. "I heard you confess to Moody, and I heard the Vow you made." Prewett pinched her nose and made a soft, annoyed sound. "And I'd like to help you." Prewett blinked and glanced up through her fringe.

"Help?" she asked, sounding confused and hopeful. Dolores smiled at her and patted her hand.

"Yes, dear. Help." Dolores leaned back and took a sip of tea. "I can make your problems go away."

"How?" Prewett asked, frowning.

"I have very good connections. The Minister would be moved by your plight, I'm sure." And Cornelius had managed to follow her advice – as well as Mr Malfoy's – these past few months, to resecure his position. It had been a delicate situation, but he'd come out well at the end of it. He had power again, though perhaps not quite as much as when he was first elected.

"Moved by my plight?" Prewett asked.

"You've done the wizarding world a service, by destroying that awful beast," Dolores said kindly. "The Aurors aren't allowed to think so, of course, but we in other Departments aren't so blinded. You should be rewarded, not punished."

"I shouldn't be punished," Prewett said. "But I don't deserve a reward either. It should just stay neutral." Dolores took a moment to process that, and then smiled, satisfied; the girl had simple needs, and was self-sacrificing, as was typical for most Aurors. She'd be easy to work with. Dawlish seemed to be the selfish exception.

"But it's not neutral, is it?" Prewett didn't say anything. "And that's why I'd like to help you."

"You can keep me in the Program?"

"Tricky business, that, but yes, I think I can." _Very _tricky, considering she'd be acting alone in this particular situation; that way, Prewett would be entirely in _her_ debt, and far more malleable than if they shared a lust for power, the way she did with Mr Malfoy and Dawlish. Prewett would be her little puppet, feeding her inside information from the D.M.L.E., which was difficult to penetrate, and having her own personal informant would reduce her need to rely on Dawlish at all; frankly, Dawlish was infuriating, and now, it seemed, he was replaceable. And, it would force Mr Malfoy to rely on her, instead of her relying on him. Dolores felt her smile widen.

"How?"

"I'll need access to Moody's suspect list," Dolores said. "Easy enough to get, I think." There were spells, there was plain old sneaking, there was always sending someone - an _Imperius _on Moody's trainee, or going in under Polyjuice – or even interrogating the trainee were all possibilities. "Then, I simply pay someone to confess everything. You can give them the details they'd need, we think of a suitable motive, and they do some time in Azkaban." Prewett looked ill.

"It won't be long," Dolores assured her. "They'll get a trial, and the Wizengamot is forgiving in special cases like this one. And when they're freed, they'll have a large sum of money waiting for them. Moody might still know the truth, but he won't argue, not when the evidence is so conclusive." Dolores smiled encouragingly.

"You won't _force_ anyone to take the fall for me, will you?"

"Of course not, dear. I'll make the offer, and they'll be free to accept it or turn it down. I'm very diplomatic."

"I want to meet the person before they agree to anything. I- I know one of the suspects, and she _can't_ be allowed to do it."

"Of course," Dolores said, taking another sip of tea. Prewett was silent, apparently thinking things over.

"Why are you helping me?" she asked finally.

"I need help too," Dolores admitted, putting her teacup down. Prewett arched an eyebrow. "I work for the Minister, and the Minister serves the Ministry... and the Ministry's been rather... segregated since Black's trial. We're trying to achieve inter-Departmental unity, but your Department – the Auror Department – is resisting that. Scrimgeour seems to be running things on his own."

"Scrimgeour's a good Department Head."

"I never said he wasn't, dear, only that he's becoming too independent. We're starting to worry that he's trying to break free of the Ministry all together-" Prewett frowned thoughtfully. "-and that his judgement is becoming obscured by his newly elevated status. We - that is, the Minister and I – want to repair things before they become a serious problem."

"That doesn't have anything to do with me," Prewett pointed out.

"Not directly," Dolores said. "But you've got an inside perspective that neither the Minister or I could hope to achieve. You know the dynamics of the Department, dear, and you know who really runs things, and what their political opinions are."

"I'm just a trainee."

"You're in a position that's easy to overlook, which makes you all the more valuable," Dolores corrected. "We could use your opinions on the way certain events play out, and your warnings if Scrimgeour does ever attempt to separate himself from the Ministry, or worse; if he ever chooses to try to overthrow us."

"You want me to keep you updated on happenings in the Department," Prewett said, "in return for arranging for me to stay in the Program."

"I think it's quite a reasonable-"

"So do I," Prewett said. Dolores hid her smile in her tea.

* * *

Florence left Umbridge's office feeling like she needed a shower. The woman absolutely reeked of flowery perfume, and sugar and nastiness.

Umbridge's offer to keep Florence in the Program was all she had to work with at the moment, and, while it wasn't fool-proof, it secured more loose ends than anything else she'd managed to think of yet, which wasn't much.

As for what Umbridge wanted in return... well, Florence wasn't happy about _that_ side of things. She couldn't believe the woman's gall; what sort of meddling cow tried to blackmail someone into spying on the _Auror Department?!_

Oh, Florence would accept her conditions - she'd do whatever she had to to keep her job – but Umbridge wasn't going to get anything useful from her, _that_ was for sure.

* * *

"You came," Robards said, looking stunned. Sirius shoved his hands into his pockets and leaned against the side of the cubicle.

"Eventually," Sirius murmured. It was mid-July – almost two weeks since he'd received Robards' letter asking for his help – and he'd finally decided to come in and have a meeting with the man. He'd decided that he wanted to help almost straight away, but then he'd forced himself to think about things – properly – before he committed himself to it. He'd realised that agreeing to help Marlene would probably mean spending a lot of time with her, and he'd realised that _that_ would mean forgiving her.

He'd thought he'd be able to manage that; there were a lot of unresolved issues between them, caused by faults (or perceived faults) on both sides, so it wouldn't be easy, but Sirius thought or hoped it would be possible. He'd tried to visit her at Number Thirteen several times, but she'd always been out. Two days ago, he'd broken in in a fit of immaturity, and been disturbed to find the house seemingly abandoned inside. While he'd already decided to help, that had been the event that prompted his visit to Robards.

"You came," Robards said again, shaking his head. "That's good enough for me." Sirius nodded, a little taken aback by his sincerity.

"So what's wrong with her?" he asked warily. Robards sighed and gestured for him to sit down. Sirius did, taking a very simple, very uncomfortable wooden chair, while Robards pulled a piece of parchment and a wand out of his desk drawer. "Your letter was pretty vague... And her house is empty." Robards looked up sharply, and then shook his head slightly and passed Sirius a piece of worn parchment.

_Gawain, _it said.

_I'm sure by now, Sirius is a free man, and well on his way to settling back into the wizarding world. With any luck, it will be an easy transition... no thanks to me._

_I'm sure, if you had the chance to speak to me, you'd try to talk me out of this, but while I've listened to you in the past, I refuse to even hear your opinion on this matter. What I've done is unforgivable – literally – and I need to atone for that._

_The box contains my house key, and my vault key. Sell my house, and everything in it – I've taken my most prized possessions with me – and add the earnings from that to my vault. Contact Sirius and tell him that he and Harry are entitled to as much money as they need. It cannot begin to compensate for what I've done, but it's a start. Give the rest to St Mungo's._

_Do what you want with my wand. I won't be needing it any more._

_I'm sorry._

_Marlene._

Sirius leaned back in his chair and rubbed his chin. He read the letter again, and then dragged a breath in between his teeth and shook his head.

_What have you done, Marls?_ he wondered. _I'll agree that you've made a few mistakes, but what sort of atonement could you possibly be hoping to achieve that couldn't be managed with an apology? _It occurred to him that she was now as scared of him as he'd once been of her; scared of judgement, of not being forgiven, of being attacked in retaliation. Sirius felt sick.

"When?" he said, and was embarrassed to hear that he was croaking. He cleared his throat, but Gawain didn't seem to have judged him from it. "When was this written?"

"May," Robards said, folding his hands, and setting them on his desk.

"May?" Sirius repeated, weakly. "So- so it's been – what – two months? She just picked up and vanished two months ago – without her _wand_ – and no one's seen or heard from her since?!"

"Black, sit down," Robards sighed. Sirius looked down and saw that he was indeed standing, and that the letter was crumpled in his fist. Embarrassed, he sat and passed it back. "Your summary of the situation is accurate. I've tried everything; I've tried to think of her and Apparate, I've been to seers and asked them to scry her for me, I've Apparated to all of the popular wizarding and muggle locations in London and searched on foot, and with spells, but I can't find her." Robards looked ill by the time he'd stopped speaking, and his eyes were shadowed. "I've run out of ideas, and it's not helping that I'm so emotionally attached to the situation."

"And I won't be?"

"You're a fresh pair of eyes," Robards said helplessly. "You know her, and you're no stranger to vanishing off the face of the earth yourself." Sirius shrugged awkwardly. "I just- I need a lead, need _something_ to work with."

"And you think I can give you that?" Sirius asked carefully. _Merlin, Marls, two months? _He closed his eyes briefly.

"I'll try anything at this point." Sirius looked at Robards and was well able to believe that. Sirius was quiet for a moment, thinking things over. "And I can be flexible; I'll work around your commitments, and I'll pay you-"

"You don't have to pay me," Sirius said at once. Even after that ridiculous fine for not registering Padfoot, he probably had enough money to comfortably support himself, Harry and Remus for the rest of their lives.

"-and I'll provide you with anything you might need. This, for starters." Robards passed Sirius a heavy golden object that looked a bit like a pocket watch. Sirius returned Marlene's letter to Robards, in exchange. "It's McKinnon's, but given the circumstances-"

"What is it?" Sirius asked, rattling it.

"A Secure Communication and Identification Device with Coordinate Clock... A Sidekick." Robards smiled, and pulled out his own, which was a little more tarnished than the one Sirius held. "Courage, virtue, determination and intelligence," he said, and both folded open. Inside was incredibly complex, but Robards gave him a quick lesson on how to use it – and changed the name on the front to read Sirius Black - and Sirius thought he'd manage.

"And that symbol-" Robards tapped small owl that was engraved on the inside of the device, alongside almost twenty other symbols – Sirius saw a lynx, an eye, two small birds – one was a robin, the other a finch - a bear, two runes he didn't recognise and a mermaid amongst other things. "-is a direct link between this device and my own. Some Aurors have phrases, or passwords, all you have to do to reach me is say my name."

"Your full name, or title, or-"

"Robards," Robards said. "Nice and simple. That's how they used to work – by names – and then Mad-Eye Moody thought it might be a security risk, so he campaigned to make passwords available." Sirius smiled to himself.

"What inspired these?" he asked, shaking Marlene's Sidekick.

"Mirrors," Robards told him, pulling out a piece of parchment and a quill. Sirius grinned, a little sadly, and added that to his list of things to tell James tonight, before he went to bed. Sirius was sure that James, wherever he was, would appreciate the news, though it was possible he already knew. "So... when are you able to help?" Sirius frowned, counting days in his head. "I'll take an hour a week if that's all you can give me. A different hour every week if you're not able to be consistent." Robards, Sirius realised, was _desperate._

"I can do a few hours on Wednesday and Saturday afternoons," Sirius said; it had taken them the better part of two weeks, but he and Remus had finally talked Harry into attending muggle school, come September. Remus had done some research – Matt and Dora had both attended muggle primary schools – and was trying to catch Harry up on the year and a half of schooling he'd missed when he and Sirius were in hiding. Sirius generally found other things to do while Harry and Remus were working on that, the same way Remus usually went and occupied himself elsewhere when Sirius was helping Harry with his Animagus project.

Hopefully, come September, the gaps in Harry's muggle education would only be small, and he could focus on the socialisation aspect of things, which was the point of the idea of sending him to school in the first place. Making friends was also the part that Harry was most scared about, thanks to his cousin, and Sirius was eternally grateful that Harry'd met the Weasleys and Draco Malfoy and had mostly positive experiences, or convincing him that yes, he was capable of making friends would have been downright impossible.

"Wednesday and Saturdays?" Robards wrote that down.

"Except for the thirty-first," Sirius said. "I won't be working on that day."

"I can give you time off if you need it," Robards said at once. Sirius smiled.

"Those two afternoons are all I can do for now." Robards nodded, not seeming at all disappointed. "But come September, Harry'll start school, and that'll free up my week days."

"I'll take what I can get," Robards said fervently, making a note of that. "You don't understand how much this means- how much I need the help. I'll get a second desk – it'll only be small, but there's not room for anything bigger, I'm afraid – and put it in the corner, there. Consider this cubicle yours whenever you need it. That Sidekick'll get you access to the Ministry library, should you need anything from there, or anything in the Department of Magical Records. It gives you a lot of authority."

For the first time, Robards looked a bit like his old, stern self, and Sirius felt the urge to fidget. The shape was wrong, but his eyes were green enough to remind him of Lily's, and her stares had always been terrifying. "It should go without saying that if you abuse that authority, I'll have to confiscate that Sidekick, and it'll make finding McKinnon a lot harder."

"I'll behave," Sirius assured him. Robards gave him a thoughtful, slightly wary look that made Sirius wonder what stories he'd heard about Sirius' school days, or even about Sirius' early days in the Program. Thankfully, though, he either hadn't heard the worst of it, or whatever he was seeing when he looked at Sirius now was enough to override that. Sirius privately thought it was the latter.

"Thank you," Robards said. "For behaving, and for agreeing to help." Robards stood and held out his hand, which Sirius shook. "I know after everything that happened, agreeing to help me help her can't have been easy."

"It was a lot easier than you'd think," Sirius said quietly. Robards gave him a long look and then smiled sadly and nodded. This time, Sirius did fidget. "So, tell me what you know."

"She's wandless," Robards said, holding up a slender wand that Sirius knew almost as well as his own. "And the last spell she cast with this was a permanent transfiguration on her hair, to turn it blond." Sirius wrinkled his nose. "She's homeless – I've set up wards specific to her to let me know if she ever goes home – and I've been up to the Bureau of Wizarding Family History to get her family tree and gone to meet everyone that's a third cousin or closer that's still alive to see if they've seen or heard anything, but they're as clueless as I am. I've talked to Mad-Eye and Dumbledore and the trainees to compile a list of her friends, or people she might go to for help, but-"

"But not me or Remus?"

"Remus is in league with you, and guilt over you is why she's vanished in the first place-"

"Point taken," Sirius said, feeling queasy.

"It isn't your fault," Robards said quietly. Sirius smiled wryly.

_It sort of is, _he thought, but didn't say anything. Robards' eyes flicked over his face.

"Last I saw her, McKinnon wasn't stable, and I don't think that any decisions she's made are based on sound thought processes. It's entirely emotional."

"And that's supposed to make me feel better?"

"It's supposed to give you an idea of what we're dealing with." Sirius sighed and waved a hand to tell Robards to continue. "She's also broke. She hasn't touched her Gringotts account since the day she left to guard Potter at Malfoy Manor, and that was only a few galleons. I've also been through all of the alerts for use of magic around muggles – if she'd somehow got her hands on another wand, or used accidental or even wandless magic-"

"Wandless?"

"Trainees get special lessons in a chosen talent," Robards said, a little impatiently. "All they really do in first year is submit an application, try to find a teacher and do some background reading, but it's possible she's managed to pick something up. Or even use accidental magic; she's probably volatile enough at the moment."

"And?"

"And nothing. Only a handful of users fitting her description out of the hundreds we've caught, but none of them had the right magical signature. She hasn't used magic for months."

"Or she's behind strong wards," Sirius said. "There are places that mask that sort of thing."

"There aren't many places with that kind of magic up, and McKinnon doesn't have access to them, unless she's sleeping under a rubbish bin in Diagon Alley."

"St Mungo's?" Sirius asked.

"Checked every ward."

"So she's alone, wandless-" Sirius wouldn't say defenceless, because Marlene had a rather impressive punch; she'd broken a Death Eater's nose in Sirius' seventh year. "-homeless and has no money?" Robards nodded. "I'd say she's in the muggle world. If she's not using magic, there's got to be a good reason for it and that's the only one I can think of. And she'd need to be living with someone, because there's no way she'd be able to fend for herself."

When they'd shared his flat during the war, they'd relied on simple meals (which was all Sirius had been capable of making) and on other Order members (namely Lily and Bean), and on eating out, or in the kitchens at Hogwarts. Marlene must have learned to cook at least passably while she was living alone, but she'd have had magic the entire time. She'd fare no better in the muggle world than Sirius would.

_And doesn't that just fill me with confidence, _he thought miserably. _What have you done, Marly?_

* * *

**As you can see, I'm back, and I managed to finish this one a bit early. :) It's a thank you for your patience this week. :)  
**

**The next update will come next Sunday (back to weekly updates) and then each Sunday after that. :)**

**Also, I'd like to apologise for how slack I've been with responding to reviews. :( I really do appreciate the time you take to leave me a response - be it praise, or constructive criticism, or just a message to ask me to update ASAP. :) I will get around to responding to them eventually, I've just been incredibly busy, and all my fanfic time has gone into getting chapters finished. So sorry - I'll get to those when I have the time. :)**

**Thank you again for your support, and for reading!**

**MarauderLover7.**


	64. Dora And The Dictionary

The rest of July passed quickly after Sirius' meeting with Gawain. The majority of his time was still spent with Harry – whether they were working on Harry's slow-going Anmagus incantation, or flying at Remus', or playing games of chess and Exploding Snap. Then, on Wednesdays and Saturdays, he'd leave for the Ministry just after lunch, and return in time for dinner.

After his first few days, he'd returned home with a headache and sore throat; he and Robards did a lot of talking, and a lot of reading and brainstorming to try to work out where in the muggle world Marlene might have hidden herself. He was also usually exasperated by all the stares; he'd have thought the novelty of seeing him walk around Level Two might have worn off after the first few times, but no such luck. It really did seem that the people of wizarding Britain had nothing better to do than gawk at Sirius wherever he went.

Had it happened during his school years, he'd probably have loved all the attention... though back then, he'd probably have done something to_earn _it; some prank with one of the other Marauders, or an impressive performance in Quidditch. All he'd done to earn their current scrutiny, was be a victim of the Ministry's rather significant blunder... and associated himself with Harry. Neither of those were things he particularly approved of being given celebrity-status for, and as such, he rather wished everyone'd find themselves something else to stare at.

Despite all the hassle of coming into the Ministry, however, Sirius would be lying if he said he wasn't enjoying it. It was nice to get out of the house and go somewhere other than Remus', Wolpole's, or the park across from Grimmauld. And, it was nice to feel like he was doing something; he hadn't realised how much he'd missed having a job until he had one again.

He liked the challenge of trying to solve puzzles, he liked the feeling that he was helping someone – even though he was yet to find Marlene and so wasn't really helping her directly yet, he was certainly helping Robards – and he liked the fact that about a week after he started, he had the brainwave that perhaps she'd admitted herself to a muggle hospital, which meant that he and Robards were out and about asking questions and looking for clues, rather than stuck inside.

He also liked the fact, that – while they hadn't made much process – it felt like they were already narrowing down their options, and that it was only a matter of time before they found her. That feeling of accomplishment was something Sirius was greatly looking forward to, after being denied it with that stupid locket for so long.

"There are still a few we haven't checked," Robards said, one afternoon in late July. He was sitting at his desk and Sirius was leaning over his shoulder. Both were looking at an enormous map of muggle London and the red crosses which showed which hospitals they'd visited.

"I can do that one tomorrow, if you'd like," Sirius said, tapping the map.

"You don't work tomorrow," Robards said, twisting around in his chair to raise an eyebrow at Sirius. Sirius shrugged.

"I'm heading that way anyway. Besides, I'm not coming in on Saturday, because-"

"It's the thirty-first," Robards said, nodding. He turned back to the map. "I know. I'll try to cover what's left of the hospitals before next week. If I don't find anything, we can talk on Wednesday about our next move, and if I do-"

"You'll send me a letter," Sirius said. He'd installed a muggle letter box on Number Twelve's front fence. It had no number on it, just a painted pawprint that he, Harry and Remus had had far too much fun administering one sunny afternoon last week. Because the owls needed to know the Secret to be able to find either Sirius or Harry inside the boundary of the Fidelius Charm, they'd set up an external drop-off point; all letters addressed to 'Padfoot's Place' would find their way to him, though so far, Robards and Dumbledore were the only people he'd told about it, and Robards was the only one who'd used it. "Or call me through the Sidekick."

"That I wi-"

"Wotcher, Ro- oh!" Sirius and Robards both glanced up to see a green-haired Dora and a tallish boy standing in front of them, looking sheepish. "Sorry, we didn't mean to-"

Robards glanced at Sirius who waved and cleared the desk – the boy was looking curiously at the map – and deposited everything in the filing cabinet in the corner. He rather wished he could climb into the drawer too; he recognised the boy now – it was the trainee from the night with the Dementors down in the holding cell – and the last time he'd seen Dora had been after the full moon, when she'd wanted to speak to Remus. He didn't know how his presence would be received this time, and was a little afraid to find out.

"No news, I'm afraid, but we're looking," Robards said, gesturing for them to come in. Sirius backed away a bit; the cubicle was relatively small, and seemed even smaller with four people crammed inside.

"We?" the trainee asked, his eyes landing on Sirius at once. Dora looked surprised as well, which surprised Sirius in turn; Remus hadn't told her? She got a thoughtful look on her face a moment later, however, and then nodded, as if it made perfect sense... Sirius supposed it probably did.

"How long for?" Dora asked.

"As long as it takes," Sirius replied. She held his gaze for a moment longer, and then beamed. She took a step forward, and for a moment, Sirius thought she might run up and hug him. Then her hair turned a pale pink – as did her cheeks – and she stepped back into line with the other trainee.

"Do you need us to go," the other trainee said, "or-"

"Nah, I'm heading off anyway," Sirius said, and Robards nodded. "See you next week," he said, giving Robards a little wave. Then he smiled and nodded at Dora and the trainee and slipped out past them. He saw Bones and Scrimgeour talking outside an office on the way to the lift and stopped very briefly to say hello to the pair of them, before he continued on to the lift.

He pressed the button and had just rocked back on his heels to wait when he heard footsteps. He glanced over his shoulder to see Dora – who was alone now – making her way over. She looked a little nervous, but also hopeful.

"Wotcher," she said lightly, pressing the button for the lift.

"Hi," Sirius said. He was about to put his hands in his pocket but he caught himself and passed the movement off as patting his pocket for his wand. "Are you... er..." He had no idea what to say, so he gestured to the lift.

"Headed to the atrium," Dora replied cheerfully. "You too, right?"

"Right," Sirius said shifting. He wanted to talk to her – he did – he just had absolutely no idea what to say. They were family, and he knew her pretty well through Remus, and through his own – though admittedly, out-dated – experiences, but those things weren't helping at the moment. After a slightly awkward pause, he cleared his throat, and she looked up hopefully. He wondered if she was just as lost for words as he was. "How are you finding the Program?" She looked relieved and Sirius grinned.

"It's brilliant," she said happily. The lift arrived and they stepped into it. Two other men – a tall, balding red-head and an older, white haired one – hurried un just before the doors closed. "Wotcher, Arthur," she said, and smiled at the other wizard. Both greeted her with smiles and let her press the button for the atrium. The old wizard stared at Sirius rather unabashedly, but the younger one – Arthur - just smiled at Sirius and then started flipping through a stack of papers in his hands. "A bit full on at times," Dora said, startling Sirius, "but that's to be expected. Mostly." She looked worried for a moment and then shook her head as if to dismiss the thought.

"Things happen," Sirius agreed.

"Mmm. Hopefully things settle after the break," she said, though she didn't look comforted by that thought.

"Remus mentioned you had exams last week," Sirius said. Dora's eyes turned a warm brown at the mention of Remus, and Sirius wondered if she realised. He tried not to smile and failed miserably.

"My last one was on Monday," she said. "And- what's funny?"

"Nothing," Sirius said. Dora pursed her lips, and looked uncannily like McGonagall when she did so. Sirius noted that even her nostrils were flaring. "Merlin, that's scary," he said. Arthur chuckled quietly in the corner, and Dora looked rather pleased with herself, but also a little suspicious. After a moment, she let the matter drop.

"So how long have you been helping Robards?" she asked.

"Nearly two weeks," he said.

"So you're worried too?" she asked heavily.

"I guess so," he sighed.

"And you really don't have anything?"

"A few guesses," Sirius said, rubbing his chin. "Nothing solid, which is a pain in the-"

"Atrium," the lift's cool voice announced. Arthur was laughing as he and the old wizard stepped out; Dora had a hand over her mouth and her shoulders were shaking.

"But we're looking," Sirius said, leading the way out of the lift, "and the more places we search and don't find her brings us that much closer to the one she's at." He shrugged helplessly, and Dora nodded. They stood in silence for a moment. "I suppose I'll see you around," he said, gesturing to the fireplace. She'd already started to move toward her own fireplace.

"I'll keep an eye out," she said, beaming, and Sirius smiled back in response. Dora gave him a funny look, and then bit her lip. He gave her a moment to say anything she wanted to, but when she remained silent, grabbed a handful of Floo Powder. He was just about to throw it into the flames when a hand grabbed his wrist to stop him.

"Wait!" she said. "Have you had dinner yet?"

"Er, no," Sirius said, blinking. "That's where I-"

"Did you want to grab a bite?" she asked. "We're getting into the habit of seeing each other, having an awkward conversation and then leaving and then repeating the whole thing the next time we run into each other." Sirius had to admit she was making a very good point. He stepped away from the fireplace to let others use it, and dropped the Floo Powder back into its pot. "We just need to sit down and talk until it's not awkward anymore," she said.

"Excellent plan," he laughed. "Just let me tell the others that I'll be home later..." He dwindled off, and pulled his mirror out. "Harry Potter," he said, while Dora looked on curiously. The image in the mirror swam and then focused on the ceiling of one of the rooms at home. "Harry!" he said. "Moony!" He waited and then called again, but no one responded. Dora looked confused.

"Are they okay?" she asked, as he shoved his mirror back into his pocket.

"Probably in the kitchen," Sirius said, as a witch with curly hair shoved past him, stopped when she realised who he was and started to stammer apologies. "It's fine," he said, rolling his eyes. She apologised once more, and then hurried off to a fireplace, looking mortified. "They obviously don't have it with them, and Moony's hearing's good, but it's not _that_ good," he told Dora, who was waiting patiently. He grimaced. "And that means they'll worry if I'm not home in the next half an hour."

Her face fell, but she nodded and said, "You should go, then. Maybe some other ti-?"

"Do you have anywhere you need to be?" Sirius asked, cutting her off. She shook her head, and he gave her a thoughtful look. She was probably trustworthy; she'd managed to keep Remus' secrets for the better part of a year, and she was family. There was no reason, now that they knew that he was innocent, that he couldn't reach out to her and Andy and Ted again. He smiled to himself.

And, if Remus finally got his act together and asked her out – which really should have happened months ago – then he'd want to spend more time with her; and that either meant that he'd spend less time with Sirius and Harry at Grimmauld, or that Dora would have to come with him.

"No," she said warily.

"Your mum won't worry?"

"She knows how unpredictable the Program can be, even when it's supposed to be the holidays," Dora assured him. "Wh-"

"Would you like to come to dinner?" Sirius asked. "Harry'll be there, and Moony-"

"Like- you mean- at your house?" she asked, wide-eyed.

"At my house, yes," Sirius said patiently. Her mouth hung open for almost a minute while she apparently tried to decide how to respond to that.

"Are you sure it's okay? I don't want to- I mean, where you live is- well, you've been very private-"

"Only because I don't want people to show up unannounced," he said. Dora blushed.

"Then maybe this isn't a good idea," she said.

"What do you mean?" he asked, frowning.

"Well," she said, and her hair turned a playful peachy colour. "Once I know where someone's house is, I have this terrible habit of inviting myself over all the time. Just ask Remus." Sirius laughed, and so did Dora, but she looked nervous. "Are you really sure that-"

"Come on," Sirius said. Dora smiled nervously and headed toward the fireplace. Sirius shook his head, well aware that he'd probably end up making a fool of himself if he tried to tell her their Floo address. He was bound by the Secret, and so mentioning Grimmauld Place in any context that involved him or Harry would result in him being tongue-tied, like Remus had been with Dumbledore. Sirius had got a lot of enjoyment out of that story, but didn't really want a repeat. "We'll have to Apparate. Do you have anything against Side-Along?"

* * *

Sirius anticipated Dora's stumble upon landing, and so was able to catch her. She thanked him, blushing, and then glanced around, probably trying to get her bearings. It didn't take long. Her eyes locked onto Number Thirteen, and then widened.

"You live near McKinnon?!" she asked.

"Neighbours," he replied. He started toward Number Twelve, and heard her following. He felt bad for seeming a bit abrupt, but he wasn't sure how much he could say without being caught by the Charm. So, he said nothing else. He saw her eyeing off the letterbox, and the snake on the door.

"Here?" she asked. Sirius smiled and stepped past her toward the door, making her jump. "Sirius?" she called, worriedly. She glanced around and pulled out her wand. Sirius stared at her, but her eyes never landed on him. It took Sirius a moment to realise what had happened.

"Guess we know it works," he muttered, and she didn't even blink; she was still glancing between the front door and the street.

"Sirius?" she asked again, and he stepped off the top step, and out of the Fidelius Charm's protection. She shrieked and he had to duck as a pink jinx whizzed past his ear. "Sorry!" she gasped. "Sorry- you were just- startled- how-" Sirius laughed, and inspected the small dent her spell had made in the wall behind him.

"I forgot about the top step," he said apologetically. "I think it's best if you wait here – I'll get Harry and he can let you in."

"Get-" she said, and then trailed off as Sirius disappeared to her eyes again. He tapped the front door with his wand – she didn't appear to notice that either – and stepped into the lit hallway. The floorboard creaked as he closed the front door; Dora didn't notice that either, though she was squinting at the house rather intently.

"Hello?" Sirius called, and he heard Remus call a greeting in reply. "I need a hand with something!" There was a pause; they were obviously sharing a look, or one of them had said something, and then he heard chairs scrape and then footsteps; Harry appeared at the top of the kitchen stairs, followed only a few seconds later by Remus. They both looked curious. "Can you get the door, Moony?" Sirius didn't really fancy being hexed, or risking Harry; Remus, on the other hand, wasn't protected by the charm and so would be perfectly visible.

Remus gave Sirius an odd look, but strode over and pulled the door open without voicing anything. Then he froze. Sirius couldn't see his face, but he was willing to bet there was a silly grin on it.

"Is that Dora?" Harry asked. He sounded reasonably sure, but she _did_ always look slightly different, so his question was a valid one.

"That's her," Sirius agreed, ruffling Harry's hair. Dora spotted Remus, beamed and bounced forward to give him a hug. She looked past him, into the house, but her eyes slid right over Sirius and Harry. "Just let her know we're coming out," Sirius said to Remus, who nodded and relayed the message.

"So no hexes," Sirius added, guiding Harry forward.

"No hexes," Remus said, and Dora looked sheepish. Harry went first – Sirius noticed Remus brushed her arm just before he came into sight, so that she wouldn't be startled – and then Sirius followed.

"This is bizarre," she said, shaking her head at them.

"Fidelius Charm," Remus told her. Harry took her arm and led her inside, the way he had with Snape early last year. She followed him – tripping over the doorway as she went, though thankfully she didn't fall – and Sirius and Remus exchanged a look and followed them inside.

"So what are you doing here?" Remus asked, as Sirius shut the door. Dora was looking around with interest.

"Well," Sirius said, with a grin, "she asked me out to dinner-" Remus' expression changed a little, though Sirius was having trouble reading it. "-and I suggested we eat here instead."

"I see," Remus said, pursing his lips, and it was then that Sirius was able to place his expression and scent; jealousy, and perhaps a bit of irritation. Sirius' grin widened.

"We're always so awkward," Sirius said, grimacing. "Dinner seemed like a good way to get comfortable with each other." Dora nodded absently, and Remus huffed, glancing between them. Harry was hovering awkwardly by the bottom of the stairs, apparently not sure what to make of the situation.

"Merlin, this place is fancy," Dora said, noticing the chandelier.

"Would you like a tour?" Sirius asked, giving her his most charming smile. Harry's eyes widened slightly, and he slipped away, headed upstairs. There was no doubt in Sirius' mind that he was probably going to try to shove everything under his bed, or into his wardrobe before they reached the upper level.

"I'll show her around, if you'd like," Remus said, in a voice that was probably meant to be casual. Dora cocked her head at him, and Sirius raised an eyebrow. "You've been working all afternoon. You should probably sit down."

"I'm fine, Moony, honestly," Sirius said. He put an arm around Dora's shoulders – he felt awkward for doing so, but he also knew it would annoy the hell out of Remus – and gestured into the study. "This is-"

"And," Remus interrupted, "You haven't spent any time with Harry all afternoon." Sirius realised he'd crossed a line and was close to making Remus angry. He released Dora.

"He knows my weakness," he said, grinning at her. "Just makes sure you show her where all the bathrooms are, Rem." With that, he transformed into Padfoot and bolted up the stairs.

"Wicked!" he heard Dora exclaim, and heard Remus groan.

Harry, surprisingly, was not in his bedroom; he was in the library, filling one of the desk drawers with bits of parchment, and several books. Padfoot turned back into Sirius and leaned against the doorway.

"Animagus stuff," Harry said, without prompting, once he noticed Sirius. "She's an Auror, and... I mean, you got fined, so I thought-"

"Smart," Sirius said, and Harry shrugged as if it was nothing. Sirius saw the pleased little grin he was wearing before he turned away, however. "Here I was thinking you'd gone to tidy your room." Harry looked at him in a way that made Sirius think he was worried for his sanity. Then he smiled crookedly.

"I suppose that's a hint, isn't it?" Sirius raised an eyebrow, and Harry gave him a sheepish look. "I'll do it on the full moon," he said, and Sirius believed him; Harry tended to get bored while he and Remus were away, and did all sorts of odd jobs that he wouldn't usually bother with.

"Deal."

"How was work? Did you-"

"Nope," Sirius sighed, stepping into the room. Harry asked the same question every time – he could be unnervingly persistent at times – and so Sirius didn't even have to wait for him to finish before he answered. One day soon, he was hoping that he'd be able to answer yes. He flopped onto the couch while Harry hid the last of the books, and then sat down in the armchair opposite him. "How'd lessons go this afternoon?"

"Fine," Harry said, shrugging. "We're just about at the end of Matt's year four work; Moony thinks we'll be able to start year five stuff in August."

"Is it interesting?"

"I s'pose," Harry said, not sounding overly enthused about it all. There was a pause and then he wrinkled his nose and added, "I really don't like geography."

"What do you like?" Sirius asked, hiding a smile. From the look on his face, Harry didn't like any of the subjects all that much.

"Maths is okay," Harry offered finally, and then, "Magic is better."

"You say that," Sirius said, amused, "because you've not yet had the pleasure of one of Professor Binns' lectures on the goblin wa-"

"Padfoot!" Remus called from somewhere below them. "Kreacher says dinner's ready!" Harry and Sirius shared a glance and jumped up.

Remus and Dora had already settled themselves in the kitchen; Sirius was amused to see that Remus had taken the seat beside Dora's at the table. Harry didn't even seem to have noticed, and sat down, conveniently enough, opposite Remus... which left Sirius opposite Dora. He grinned and sat down.

Remus looked a little smug for a moment, at least until Sirius said, "Excellent."

"What is?" Remus asked, accepting a bread roll from Kreacher.

"I'm the last person to sit down," Sirius said, smiling pleasantly, "and yet I've got the best seat at the table, directly across from our lovely guest."

Remus didn't speak to him for the rest of the meal.

* * *

Harry's tenth birthday fell on a Saturday, and, while Sirius insisted he was more than welcome, Remus opted not to head over to Grimmauld until lunchtime, so that Sirius and Harry could have some time together.

He'd expected them to have a large breakfast – courtesy of Kreacher – spend time unwrapping presents (and probably end up attacking each other with the masses of wrapping paper), and then play with the presents, or spend time planning some sort of prank with which to get Remus with upon his arrival.

He had not expected, even in his wildest imaginings, to walk down into the kitchen and find Sirius and Harry sitting at the kitchen table, with Severus Snape and Draco Malfoy. Three (four, when Remus spotted Kreacher) of them were wearing gaudy party hats, though Sirius was the only one who didn't seem to mind his. Kreacher looked indifferent, but Remus rather suspected he'd been forbidden to take it off.

Harry was tugging at his while he alternated between talking to Draco and sending wary glances at Sirius and Snape. Draco was holding his head very still, and kept reaching for the hat, only to check the movement and drop his hands back into his lap. His pale eyes were fixed rather intently on Sirius. Snape's hat rested in a crumpled heap, by his elbow, and his expression was sour, though that may just have been because he was talking to Sirius.

"Moony," Sirius said, spotting him. He flicked his wand and Remus felt a slight weight settle itself on his head. He reached up to confirm that he was indeed wearing a hat like the rest of them. "Had a good morning?" Remus nodded, stunned, and managed to stammer a happy birthday at Harry, who accepted it with a smile – Remus patted his pocket, to tell him they'd do presents later - and then gave Remus a confused sort of shrug, as if he had no idea how whatever this was had happened either.

"Lupin," Snape drawled.

"Snape," Remus said, blinking. Sirius waved him over, and Remus staggered in their general direction and sat down between Sirius and Harry. Draco gave him a thoughtful look and then smiled. Remus waved at him, before looking over at Sirius in askance.

Sirius missed the look entirely, however, because he was talking to Snape. Talking. Not yelling. Not insulting. Talking. His tone was a little strained, and a bit too polite to be considered normal, but they were _talking._ And Snape looked like he was undergoing an unpleasant ordeal, and his tone was clipped, but he was talking back.

"-sound like anything I've ever heard of before," Snape was saying.

"Well, no," Sirius replied. "I don't expect it would; I invented it."

"You?" Snape asked doubtfully. "I've heard of- I've _made_ potions in my own mind, potions which affect my mental state – a Calming Drought, for instance – but spells-"

"It was complicated," Sirius said.

"Obviously not, if someone with no former Occlumency experience was able to manage it in a few mere months," Snape said. There was no bite behind it – just a bit of impatience - which astonished Remus.

"I was working on it full time," Sirius said. "But most of it was just building off of methods that had already been established. It was only making a wand and casting spells that I really came up-"

"Do you have notes?" Snape asked. Sirius blinked, and Remus could tell from his scent how surprised he was by that particular question.

"I- yeah, loads." Sirius blinked again, as if he couldn't believe he was having this conversation. "They're upstairs-"

"Might I be able to read them?" It looked like it was killing Snape to ask that. Remus' insides clenched; at any moment, Sirius was going to laugh and say something about not letting Snape get his greasy hands on his hard work. And things would go downhill from there and-

"Yeah, sure. It sort of goes without saying to not let them fall into the wrong hands... and not to let anyone else read-"

"Do I look like an idiot, Black?" Snape drawled.

"A bit," Sirius said. "I mean, you're the only one not wearing a party h-"

"You are a fool," Snape said, rolling his eyes,

"Obviously not, or you wouldn't want my notes," Sirius shot back. There was a pause, and then Sirius lifted an eyebrow. Snape opened his mouth, looking irate, but then closed it again and said nothing. Sirius grinned, but quickly hid the expression behind his glass of juice, and for the briefest moment, Remus would have sworn that Snape's scowl vanished.

* * *

"Is something wrong?" Draco asked the side of Potter's head. "You're supposed to look at people when they're talking to you."

"You've been looking over there too," Potter said, arching an eyebrow. Draco felt the colour rise in his cheeks. He'd asked Mother about the White Sheep a few weeks ago. She'd told him two stories; one about her sister – not Aunt Bella; the other one, Andromeda – and also about Sirius Black, the man sitting not three feet from him now.

And, while Draco was hardly about to run away with a muggleborn like Andromeda, he was now a little afraid that one day, he and his family would clash like Black had clashed with his family. He had a good reason to stare.

"Have not," Draco said weakly.

"Is it Moony?" Potter asked, and something rather defensive crept into his tone.

"The werewolf?" Draco asked, eying Lupin, who looked completely confused. "No." Potter gave him a rather wary look. Draco thought he was expecting a self-righteous declaration of how werewolves were inferior. The only werewolf Draco had ever met was Lupin, however, and he seemed all right, even if Father didn't like him. Draco would never admit it, but he suspected Potter was probably a better judge of character than Father... or he was at least more open minded.

"So what's- I mean, what is it you're staring at?" Potter asked.

Draco hesitated. Had anyone else asked – anyone but Severus, or perhaps Mother – he'd have lied. He was a good liar, now, or at least he thought so; when he and Severus played those strange games, Severus often struggled to distinguish between lies and truths. Severus didn't realise how useful that had become at home, and during dinner parties. He probably just thought it was a strange game. To Draco, though, the skill had become something invaluable, and he wanted to find some way to thank Severus... without necessarily tipping him off; he doubted Severus would approve if he knew.

Draco glanced at Potter again – Potter, who'd given him the most valuable piece of advice anyone had ever given him – except possibly Severus, when he'd scarred Draco's palm. Potter had told him to stay quiet about his beliefs, particularly around Father, and Potter was the one who'd told him about the sheep in the first place.

"Sheep," Draco said. Potter glanced at the adults, looking completely bewildered. He straightened his party hat absently, and then looked back at Draco.

"The- what- the sheep?" he asked.

"Yes, Potter," Draco said, rolling his eyes. Draco liked Potter most of the time, but he was ridiculously daft. "The sheep. The white sheep, from that story...?"

"Oh," Potter said, his eyes widening. "So you asked about it, then?" Draco nodded curtly.

"It was good advice," he said quietly.

"Thanks." Potter fiddled with his hat once more, and then yanked it off and tossed it down, like Severus had done. Relieved, Draco did the same, since he was no longer in danger of being rude; Potter had done it first, and it was his birthday, so he should be able to make the rules. Draco nodded again, a little awkwardly.

"So why are you staring?" he asked.

"Padfoot and Snape don't get along," Potter said, his eyes drifting away from Draco again.

"They seem to be doing fine," Draco commented. They both looked a little tense, but neither seemed too hostile.

"I know," Potter said, looking unnerved. He blinked and turned back to Draco, who only saw the movement out of the corner of his eye; he was back to watching Black, who was scowling at Lupin. Severus looked amused.

"Potter," Draco said.

"Malfoy?" Potter said.

"Does Black- is he lonely?" Draco clasped his hands in his lap.

"Not lonely, I don't think," Potter said, after a moment. "Wh-"

"Does he miss his family?" Draco blurted.

"His blood family, or his real one?" Potter asked, pushing his glasses up.

_There's no difference, _Draco thought, exasperated, and decided that Potter was an idiot.

"Never mind," he said dismissively. Potter frowned – perhaps he didn't like Draco's tone – but let the matter drop. It got a little awkward after that, but Draco didn't really care; things were always awkward for him, lately, even around his family; he had taken to avoiding Father as much as possible, just in case Father decided Draco had become too strange and told him to leave, and so, when they were around each other, they were distant enough that it was more like talking to Mr Greengrass, or Mr Parkinson than it was like talking to Father.

Hydrus had, until about a month ago, been firmly on Draco's side whenever he said something without thinking at dinner parties (at home, they were still as antagonistic as ever). After Nadia's birthday, at the beginning of July, however, Hydrus had changed his mind, and apparently decided that Draco was no longer worth defending. Draco had been more surprised and hurt by the loss of his brother's public support than he probably should have been.

He should have seen it coming – it was the Slytherin thing to do – but for some reason, he'd expected Hydrus to take his side, even if it was the losing one. Draco had been even more startled to realise he thought that way because that was what he would have done. The others had followed Hydrus' lead in the matter – Pansy was the friend he missed the most - and as a result, he was now spending the majority of their gatherings with Theodore and Catherine, and occasionally Vivienne (who seemed caught in the middle of an ongoing feud between her sisters). Draco hoped that his and Theodore's tentative camaraderie lasted until Hogwarts; he'd be very lonely in Slytherin otherwise.

Then there was Mother. He still felt awful for making her cry on the night of his birthday dinner. He'd tried to fix it. Honestly, he had. He'd tried to copy Hydrus, and his father, but he found himself disagreeing with them – not that he ever voiced it, of course – and the scar on his palm was too strong of a reminder. So he found himself stepping and speaking carefully around Mother too. He was still closer to her than Father or Hydrus – they still hugged, and she still told him stories – but he was being careful not to upset her. She wasn't a bad mother - the fault was all his – and he didn't want to give her any evidence that made her think so.

Yes, things had been very awkward whenever Draco was involved.

"Thanks for the... you know, present," Potter said finally, gesturing to the dictionary that lay on a small pile of gleaming silver wrapping paper.

"I told you I'd buy you one," Draco said, loftily. He'd had no idea how to get it to Potter, but then he'd mentioned it in passing to Severus, who'd got an odd look on his face and said something about testing a truce. Draco hadn't entirely believed him until they'd found themselves on a muggle street, and Potter and Black had quite literally appeared out of nowhere. They'd all stared at each other, and then Black had – very awkwardly – invited them inside. "Fun as it is to try to interpret your uhs and erms, it's rather tiresome."

"If you think I'm bad, you should hear Moony after-" Potter trailed off, looking wary.

"After..?" Draco prompted.

"The full moon," Potter said, with an odd expression. His eyes were fixed on Draco rather intently. "He can hardly talk." Draco arched an eyebrow.

"If Lupin's able to form semi-coherent sounds after a night of no sleep, and two transformations, Potter, then I haven't even the faintest clue what your excuse is." Potter opened his mouth and seemed – unsurprisingly – lost for words. "Merlin, Potter, as if I needed any more evidence to support my point..."

Potter burst out laughing, and Draco felt a smile – no, it felt different; a... grin? – spread across his face in response.

_Merlin, I have changed, _he thought. _Malfoys don't _grin! As if on cue, the adults looked over, and Draco hastily smoothed his expression. Black looked curious, Lupin looked even more confused than he had before, and Severus... Severus looked a little sad.


	65. Harry Evans

"I think you're enjoying your freedom far too much," Tonks observed. She, Charlie and Tom were sitting on the balcony of the boys' little house in the Romanian Highlands, on the outskirts of the reserve. Mad-Eye had give her the last week of August off, and she'd Portkeyed to Romania to surprise them.

Charlie's hair was shorter, and he wasn't quite as chubby as he had been – still stocky, but with more muscle. He also had quite a few more freckles than when she'd last seen him, and several burns that had been acquired in the last year. Tom had had a haircut too, had filled out a bit – he'd been lanky in school - and was looking very tanned. He also seemed to have taken better care of himself; he didn't have any burns, or at least not where Tonks could see them.

Charlie and Tom shared a glance and then raised their butterbeers in a toast – probably to freedom.

"Maybe a bit," Tom drawled. "When we've got it, anyway. Our hours are probably just as long as yours."

"Although ours are set," Charlie said, a little too smugly.

_"Yours _are," Tom said, sharing a long suffering look with Tonks. "We-" He gestured to himself and then at her. "-don't have that luxury." Charlie did a lot of research, but he operated during reasonably normal hours. Tom – like Tonks – had to be available whenever he was needed; he was a dragon healer.

"You chose it," Charlie said, grinning.

"We're selfless," Tom said haughtily. "Serving others, even at our own expense."

"He's fond of saying that," Charlie said. "It's like he doesn't think him thumping around in the unsociable hours of the morning is enough of a reminder." He gave Tom a pointed look. "It is."

Tom chuckled, and Tonks glanced between them, amused. Several hours and several butterbeers each later, they were still out on the balcony, having not moved, except to fetch scarves. Tonks had shared some of Mad-Eye's funnier moments – which usually occurred at her own expense – and Charlie and Tom had shared some of their own stories in return; Tonks learned the stories behind several of the burns on Charlie, and Tom showed her the detailed tattoo (it was, a dragon, of course) on his shoulder, that Charlie had persuaded him to get one night after a few too many firewhiskeys.

She also learned that they'd both had haircuts after one of the other dragonkeepers had her hair set on fire by a grumpy hatchling. Tonks thought that was rather sensible of them.

"So what's happened with Black?" Charlie asked. "We hear a bit through the wireless, but the translation was dodgy. It was either innocent, or guilty; we couldn't tell if they said 'nevinovat', or 'vinovat'-"

"He's innocent," Tonks said, and that of course, led to all sorts of questions about the trial, and how he'd been caught, and _that_ led to Tonks sharing the story of Ron and Ginny sneaking into Bones' office to meet Harry. Charlie didn't seem to know whether to be more embarrassed or impressed. Tom just clapped him on the shoulder, and snorted.

"Oh, come on; if we were there age, don't you reckon we'd have done it?" Charlie shook his head, in a way that didn't manage to convey whether he agreed or disagreed with Tom, and gestured for Tonks to keep talking.

"All right," Charlie said, when they'd temporarily run out of things to talk about, "I've got to ask: what's happening with you and Lupin?"

"What do you mean?" Tonks asked, blinking at him.

"Are you dating, or-"

"Dating?!" Tonks exclaimed. "No, we're just good friends."

"Good friends?" Tom repeated dubiously. Tonks felt her hair change colour; she thought it was probably a reddish pink, for embarrassment, and anger.

"Yes, good friends," she snapped.

"We're your good friends," Tom said, "but I don't reckon you talk about us quite as much as you talk about this Lupin bloke."

"How would you know?" she asked, but she knew he was probably right. "Besides, that doesn't mean anything; he just happens to have been there a lot this past year, because he was involved with the search, and with Greyback, and with the trial."

"Oh, obviously," Charlie said, grinning at Tom, who nodded in a rather condescending way.

"I don't fancy him," Tonks told them, blushing. "He's just a-a good friend," she finished lamely. Perhaps not her longest friend – the way Charlie and Tom were – but this year in particular, Remus had probably been her best friend. And that's all they were. Friends. She nodded.

"Yeah, it sure sounds like it," Tom agreed, in a voice completely devoid of any drawl. That in itself made Tonks think he was making fun of her. "So tell us more about him, this good friend of yours."

* * *

Harry and Padfoot entered a brightly lit classroom. They were early; the classroom's only other occupants were a middle-aged, motherly sort of woman, a dark skinned man with an easy smile, and a tall boy that was probably the man's son. Like Harry, he was wearing pair of dark blue shorts, and a lighter blue jumper. Peeking out from underneath his jumper, however, was a green polo shirt; Harry's was blue, for his House: Pippin.

"Hello there!" the woman sang, bustling over. She dodged a cluster of desks with all the ease of experience and offered her hand to Padfoot, who shook it. "I'm Julie Phelps – Mrs Phelps to you, love - and I'll be your teacher this year."

"Er, hi," Harry said, blinking as she patted his head. Next to him, Padfoot was watching the woman with a combination of shock and amusement.

"Patrick Evans," Padfoot said, getting control of his expression. They'd decided on different names and simple disguises – Harry had blue eyes, and hair that resembled Moony's – just to be safe. Padfoot had asked around to make sure his name was clear in the muggle world and had been assured that was, but just in case it hadn't been, and also because Harry didn't want to be recognised as the Boy-Who-Disappeared-From-Surrey, they'd opted to take precautions. "This is my son, Harry. He's new-"

"Of course, of course," she said, with a nod that made her blond curls bob up and down. "Emmanuel told me you'd be coming." The man over by the desk smiled at Harry, and Harry smiled back. "So Harry Evans, is it?" Harry nodded. "You're not related to Oliver, are you?" she asked. "I taught him last year. Not very bright, but a nice boy and good at sports-"

"Er, no," Harry said, beginning to feel a little overwhelmed by how chatty this woman was. He glanced at Padfoot, who shrugged, but put a reassuring hand on Harry's shoulder.

"A bit nervous, are you, dear?" Mrs Phelps asked, blinking at him through her thick glasses. "That's quite all right," she said, before he could answer. "It's your first day, so it's to be expected." Still lost for words – absently, he wondered how badly Draco would mock him if he was here to see this – Harry smiled at her. "Oh, excuse me; I think that's another one of mine that's arrived." Harry watched as she bounced over to a girl in green, who'd come in alone.

"Harry, wasn't it?" the man asked, approaching Harry and Padfoot. His son had gone off to greet a boy who'd just walked in with his mother.

"Hi," Harry said.

"Emanuel Benson," he said, offering Harry his hand. Harry shook it, recognising the name – Mr Benson was the Headmaster - and then Mr Benson offered it to Padfoot. "I thought I'd come and say hello."

"Thank you," Padfoot said, when Harry found himself wordless for the second time in as many minutes. Padfoot added a bit of pressure – very gentle pressure – to Harry's shoulder, probably to tell him to calm down.

"You're lucky with Mrs Phelps; she's been a teacher here for a long time, and she's a bit of a favourite with the kids."

"She seems nice," Harry offered, and Mr Benson smiled.

"It should go without saying that we want you to settle in as quickly and easily as possible," Mr Benson said, kindly, "so if you've got any problems, feel free to bring them to Mrs Phelps or myself, and we'll see what we can do to help out, all right?"

"Yeah, thanks," Harry said. Mr Benson seemed genuine enough, but – other than Mrs Baddams – he'd had a fairly lousy run of teachers and couldn't help but feel a little wary. Mr Benson smiled at him again, and then glanced around.

"Blaise!" he said, waving his son over. The boy – Blaise – glanced over, muttered something to his friend, and then walked across, giving Harry a curious look. "This is Harry."

"Hey," Blaise said.

"Hi," Harry said back, trying not to feel too daunted by how tall the other boy was. Harry'd grown quite a bit since coming to live with Padfoot, but Blaise was still a whole head taller than him.

"Blaise is my son," Mr Benson said, unnecessarily. "Why don't you show Harry where he can put his bag, and help him find a desk?"

"I don't want to be any trou-"

"It's fine, kid," Blaise said, gesturing for Harry to follow. Mr Benson smiled at them both, and then excused himself to talk to one of the other parents.

"I s'pose that's my cue to leave," Padfoot muttered, giving Harry's shoulder another squeeze.

"I s'pose," Harry said, reluctantly. He lowered his voice to make sure that Blaise – who was hovering a few feet away – wouldn't overhear and then said, "Couldn't you just transform and hide under my desk or something?" Padfoot chuckled and hugged him.

"I'll meet you by the school sign at three," he said. "And I'll bring Moony." He looked a little guilty for a moment, which made Harry feel bad in turn. Padfoot and Moony both thought school was a good idea, but they hadn't forced him into it. He'd agreed.

"Brilliant," Harry said, determined to put on a brave face, at least until Padfoot left. Then, he'd have no choice but to be brave, because it would just be him. In fact, it'd probably be easier once Padfoot was gone.

"And maybe we'll mess around in Moony's garden this afternoon," Padfoot added, a little apologetically. The promise of flying that afternoon put a genuine smile on Harry's face. "And-"

"You should go, before you promise anything else," Harry said, laughing. "I'll be fine, really." Padfoot smiled and then he ruffled Harry's hair and slipped out of the classroom. Harry watched him go, smile fading, until Blaise came over and tapped him on the shoulder.

"Sorry," Harry muttered, and followed him over to a line of hooks that were obviously supposed to hold their rucksacks; they'd used a similar system at St Grogory's.

"You can go next to me, if you'd like," Blaise said, gesturing to a hook. Harry, who'd been eyeing off the end hook – that way, he'd only have one person next to him, and couldn't be sandwiched and elbowed from both sides – glanced at the one Blaise was offering.

"Thanks," he said, and put his bag down. Blaise adjusted his hold on his own things while he waited for Harry.

"Do you want to sit anywhere in particular?" Blaise asked, gesturing around the room.

_I can sit anywhere?_ Harry wondered; Mrs Baddams and all of his earlier teachers had believed firmly in seating plans, and Mrs Peterson hadn't, but had always put him next to Dudley, because Dudley was used to his supposed naughtiness and knew how to handle him.

The boy Blaise had been talking to before he'd been assigned Harry-duty, had found two others and claimed three of the four seats in a cluster and was trying – rather unsubtly – to catch Blaise's eye. Blaise pretended not to notice, which Harry both appreciated, and felt guilty about.

"I think they-"

"It's fine," Blaise said, glancing at them; one waved and patted the seat beside him.

"You can go," Harry said.

"Don't be silly, Evans," Blaise said, looking offended. "We'll find somewhere-"

"Seriously," Harry muttered. "It's fine." Blaise stared at him for a moment. Harry wasn't sure what he managed to get out of his expression, but eventually he nodded reluctantly.

"At least sit nearby," Blaise said.

"Yeah, sure," Harry said.

"Are you-"

"It's fine," Harry told him. Blaise gave him a helpless sort of look and shuffled over to his friends. A little relieved – because as much as he appreciated the help, he didn't want to draw attention to himself by monopolising anyone – Harry deposited his things onto a cluster of four desks, none of which were occupied.

He'd hardly had time to tuck in his chair when the one beside his was pulled out, and a green blur dropped into it. It was the girl who'd come in alone. She gave him a nervous, almost apologetic smile, revealing rather large front teeth, and then started to arrange her pencil case and books.

"I'm Harry," he said, a little uncertainly, when she didn't introduce herself.

"Hermione Granger," she replied, looking surprised and pleased that he'd talked to her. She hesitated, and then, apparently unable to help herself, said, "Are you new?" Before he could reply, she shook her bushy head. "You must be, because you weren't in Mr Ashby's class last year." She paused to breathe. "Where did you go to school la-"

"I think we might get started for the day," Mrs Phelps announced, to the room, saving Harry from answering; Hermione turned away from him at once, pen poised to write. "Put your bag away if you haven't already," Mrs Phelps said, making her way over to the blackboard, "and choose a seat – anywhere will do for today." The last few parents trickled out the door – Mr Benson waved at Blaise as he left – and those students left standing were quick to find seats.

It didn't escape Harry's notice that the chairs opposite him and Hermione were the last to be taken, or that the pair that took them – a squat blond girl with a red collar sticking out of her too-small jumper, and a girl with glasses who wore blue like Harry – didn't seem overly impressed about the seating arrangements. Neither, for that matter, did Hermione, whose shoulders had slumped when they sat down.

"I recognise a few faces," Mrs Phelps said, peering over the top of her class list, "but most of you are unfamiliar, and I know for a fact that one of you is new-" At this point, she bestowed Harry with a bright smile. He lowered himself into his seat a little, as twenty pairs of eyes landed on him, not sure where to look. Eventually, his eyes found Blaise, who gave him a sympathetic smile. "-so be patient for the first few days, while I learn names." She called out the class list, marking off who was there and who was missing, and had each of them tell her one thing about their holidays.

Harry's last two months had been quiet, but his time since he was last at _school_ had been anything but; he'd found out he was a wizard, been 'kidnapped', learned magic, fought Inferi, spent a week in hospital, reconnected with one of his dad's old friends, learned to fly a broom, been arrested, sat through a criminal trial and visited Hogwarts. He would, however, be breaking several hundred laws if he mentioned any of that.

"I... er got a dog," he said, instead, when his turn came. "He'd been in the shelter for ages because there was a mix-up with his papers and people thought he was dangerous, but he's actually really friendly." Everyone seemed to find this appropriately interesting, and Harry was relieved when the next name – Hermione – was called to take the attention away from him. She said, rather timidly, that she and her parents had gone camping in the Forest of Dean.

Other students had done exciting things too; a round-faced redhead named Matthew had gone to Disneyland, an Asian boy, Colin, had gone to visit relatives in Korea, and a tall boy named Jack had gone to France with his football club.

The class list let Harry put a few names to faces; Blaise's friends were Ryan, Sacha and Paul, and the girls opposite him and Hermione were Ruth and Leanne respectively. The class disintegrated into noisy chatter after a girl named Bonnie mentioned her sister's wedding – with a few exceptions, most of the girls were cooing, and the boys were making gagging noises – and Mrs Phelps took the opportunity to fetch a stack of papers from her desk.

"Settle down," she called, waving her free arm. Next to Harry, Hermione sat straighter, her eyes fixed interestedly on the teacher, but she was the only one. It took several other calls – each a little louder – to get the class' attention again. "Thank you. Now, I've put together a little test to see how much you've remembered from last year." She beamed around at them all, as she hugged the papers to her chest, and then tinkled a laugh; the majority of the class had groaned (Harry amongst them), although Harry could have sworn Hermione's eyes brightened. "Oh, come on, it won't be that bad!"

"I've heard _that _before," Harry heard Blaise mutter to his friends, who all laughed. Mrs Phelps waggled a finger at him and started handing out tests.

"I'll give you half an hour, but I doubt you'll need that long. You can start as soon as you get one... and please try your best: there are house points on offer if you do well enough."

Harry pulled out a pencil and looked at the sheet of paper on the table in front of him, feeling cautiously optimistic that he would pass at the very least; Moony was too good a teacher for him to fail, unless the questions were particularly obscure.

That cautious optimism was shaken a little when he reached the first dotted line (_Name_) and almost wrote the wrong thing. Harry smiled wryly as he wrote 'Harry Evans' across the top of his test. Next to him, Hermione Granger was already on Question 4. _Question 1_, Harry read, _assign the following Roman Numerals their relevant values_. He baulked, reasonably sure that he and Moony had never covered that!

Then he read the next part of the question (_X)_ and his eyes widened. _Hang on... that's Latin!_ Harry thought, and laughed to himself as he wrote the answer down.

The test wasn't as bad as Harry had feared; he was confident about his answers to most of the Maths questions and the Spelling ones were fairly easy too, though upon reflection he was fairly sure 'Professor' didn't have two f's. He'd known – thanks to living there for seven-and-a-half years – that Kent, Sussex and Hampshire were three counties that bordered Surrey, though he'd had no idea what county neighboured Cornwall. The last question had truly stumped him; it had been a riddle and he'd always been bad at those so he wasn't expecting good results from that question.

"How did you go?" Hermione whispered as soon as Mrs Phelps had collected their tests. Harry shrugged.

"Well enough, I think. How about you?"

"I don't know!" she said, looking upset. "I could only name two counties that neighboured Surrey and I didn't know what the Roman Numeral 'D' meant!"

"Oh," Harry said. Then he blinked, realising she was expecting a longer answer. "I, er, I'm sure you did well anyway."

"Yes, but what if I didn't?" she asked anxiously. "Mrs Phelps will think I'm stupid for the rest of the year!"

"Maybe you just had a bad day," Harry suggested.

"Maybe," she said absently. A moment later her eyes came back into focus and she frowned. "What did you put for 'D'?"

"Hmm? Oh, fifty," Harry said, examining a strand of his brown hair. He still wasn't entirely used to the feeling of it lying flat.

"That's what I put!" Hermione said. "Is your answer right?"

"I think so, yeah," Harry said.

"How do you know?"

_Because I'm teaching myself Latin so my wizard godfather can teach me how to transform into a wolf. _"We covered this stuff last year." This seemed to appease Hermione who shifted in her seat so she was facing the front again. _All right, then_, Harry thought, bemused.

"There you are, dear," Mrs Phelps said a moment later, passing him a test.

"This isn't mine," he said, confused. "This is Hermione's." Hermione jumped and peered over at the paper.

"Yes, dear, I know," Mrs Phelps said with a laugh that the rest of the class joined in with. "I'll read the answers and you'll mark them. Haven't you ever done this before?"

"Er... no," Harry said. Mrs Peterson had never trusted him to do that and before then, he'd been too young. Hermione sighed and Harry would have bet the contents of his Gringotts vault that it was because she didn't think him capable of marking her test.

"We'll go slowly then," Mrs Phelps said, passing Hermione a piece of paper. They went through the answers, a process that took almost twice as long as doing the test had, and by the end, Harry was thoroughly fed up; because she'd known he had her test, Hermione had been constantly checking to see whether her answers were right. These not-so-subtle-glances were more often than not accompanied by comments like, 'Oh, good, I wasn't sure about that one!' or 'I got lucky; that was just a guess!' When the marking was finally finished they were told to tally the marks and give the test a score out of twenty.

"How did I go?" Hermione asked, craning her neck to see around Harry's hand.

"Nineteen," he told her shortly.

"Where did I lose a mark?" she said, pulling the test toward her.

"Counties surrounding Surrey," he said, letting her have the piece of paper. "Thank you," he said to the boy who passed him his test – Ryan, he thought his name was.

"How did you go?" Hermione asked, trying to see over his shoulder.

"Sixteen out of twenty," he told her as he scanned the page; 'Professor' did indeed have one f, Devon was beside Cornwall and the answer to the riddle (worth two marks) had been a telephone box.

"You can keep those," Mrs Phelps said cheerfully, "to refer so you know where you can improve. You've got recess now, until the bell and then we'll have our assembly – can someone make sure Harry finds his way there, please?" There was a murmured assent, and Harry felt his face warm up a little. She beamed around at them all for a moment. "Off you go then, you lot," Mrs Phelps said fondly, seating herself at her desk.

Hermione gave Harry a nervous look and then scurried off to her hook; Harry noticed she'd chosen the end one he'd been eyeing earlier. Harry joined the mob – Blaise was kind enough to leave space for him to get to his rucksack – and managed to grab his recess and extract himself from the crowd reasonably quickly, and then headed for the classroom door.

He unwrapped his recess and was cheered to see that Kreacher had packed him a slice of treacle tart – Harry's favourite – and a few slices of apple. They hadn't even started to brown yet, which made Harry suspect there was a charm of some sort keeping them fresh, but he wasn't about to complain. He grinned and set off down the hall, enjoying the luxury of making it out to recess – usually, he'd been kept in for 'misbehaving' – and that he was blissfully alone; Dudley and his gang were nowhere in sight.

Harry's wanderings took him to the school library, which he figured was as good a place as any to wait until recess ended. Inside was bigger than he'd expected, with rows of standard metal shelves that were filled with – unsurprisingly – books. The covers of these were brightly coloured and more often than not accompanied by a picture. Harry found himself missing the large, dark-covered tomes in the library at home.

There were circular tables with plastic chairs distributed evenly around the room, and there were a few armchairs against the walls. In one corner was a games area; Harry could see a pair of students playing chess, four huddled around a Monopoly board and a pair of students - who couldn't have been older than six - arguing over building blocks. In another corner of the room there was a newspaper and magazine section and without being able to see their faces, Harry knew the occupants were girls; boys simply didn't giggle like that. The other side of the room was packed with students from his class who were all crowded around two computers, no doubt blowing up aliens like Dudley had used to.

Harry found his way to a small circle of couches near the back of the library which were unused save for one, where Hermione Granger was sitting, deeply engrossed in her book: _Maths for Secondary School_. She stiffened as Harry sat down and her brown eyes peered over the top, doing a sweep of the general area. She relaxed when she noticed it was just Harry.

"Hi," he said, gesturing to the other couches. "Is anyone else-"

"No," she said. "But if you're going to sit here, you'll need a book. This is the quiet reading section." Harry blinked. "And you really shouldn't have food in here." With that, Hermione's attention drifted back to her book. Harry stood there, not sure if he was welcome to sit down after that, or if he should just leave. Thankfully, he was interrupted only seconds later, by Blaise's arrival.

"Oi, Evans!" Blaise was loud enough to be heard, but not loud enough to incite the wrath of the dumpy, bespectacled librarian on the other side of the library. Hermione made a quiet noise and hid her face behind her book, as Blaise wandered over, his friends trailing behind him. "I turned around and you were gone." Blaise looked curious, though Harry didn't think he'd push for an answer.

"I'd heard the library was good," Harry said, shrugging. It was a lie - Harry thought Blaise's friends knew that, if their doubtful looks were anything to go by - but Blaise accepted it without question.

"You did well to find it," he said. "This-" Hermione looked up at the pair of them, eyes narrowed, and opened her mouth. "Yeah, yeah," Blaise said. "Keep your hair on, kid." Harry glanced at Hermione, who he suspected had been about to tell them off. Blaise grabbed two books off a nearby shelf - his friends groaned and skulked over to watch the students on the computers - and passed one to Harry, who accepted it.

"Thanks," Harry said. Blaise nodded sagely.

"You never know when you might need to know your beetle species," Blaise said, gesturing to Harry's book. Harry chuckled; Blaise had a book on spiders. Hermione gave the pair of them a withering look, and Harry flicked his book open and pretended to read. "So, how are you coping?" Blaise asked. "A test on the first morning was pretty rude, if you ask me-"

"I think it was a good idea," Hermione interrupted, apparently deciding that if she couldn't silence them, she might as well join them. She looked a little self conscious when she realised her statement had drawn both boys' attention. "Holidays are over and a test is a good way to remind-"

"I like school as much as the next kid," Blaise said, cutting her off, "but a test on the first day was harsh, Granger, even _you_ have to see that."

"I don't have to see anything," she told him, rather coolly. "I think it was necessar-"

"What do you think, Evans?" Blaise asked, cutting her off again. Two pairs of dark eyes affixed themselves on Harry, waiting for an answer.

"I don't really like tests on any day," he said, shrugging.

"Of course not," Hermione muttered, and once again, buried herself in her book. Harry thought she looked disappointed, which made no sense at all.

"So you got a dog, huh?" Blaise asked, after a short pause.

"Yeah," Harry said. "Padfoot."

"I've got a dog too, but she's really old," Blaise said. "Maid Marian." He grinned, but his face fell quickly. "Oh, come _on, _you must have seen it!" Harry gave him a blank look. Blaise gaped at him. "What rock did you crawl out from under this morning, kid? Don't you have a television-"

"Er, no," Harry said. Blaise blinked, and even Hermione looked a little surprised; he caught her eyeing him over the top of her book. Harry pretended to be interested in a fat beetle on the cover of the book that Blaise had given him.

"So what do you _do_?" Blaise asked, looking equally repulsed and fascinated. Harry shrugged, and was saved from answering both Blaise and Hermione – who looked like she'd been about to say something – by the bell. The three of them jumped, startled, and Harry's hand twitched toward his pocket, before he remembered he didn't have his wand.

"We should go," Harry said; while Blaise and Hermione were more used to school bells than he was, they'd been on holidays for two months. He, on the other hand, had spent the better part of two years becoming accustomed to loud, unexpected noises.

Blaise leaped to his feet, his consternation at Harry's lack of knowledge about television temporarily forgotten; he and Hermione put their – and Harry's – books away, and then Blaise led the way out of the library, toward the assembly hall. Hermione trailed alongside – not quite next to Harry, but close enough that an outside observer would know she was with them – in silence; out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw her open her mouth a few times, as if she wanted to say something, but then she'd glance at Blaise, and seem to think better of it.

He couldn't yet say that he was _enjoying _school, but, for the first time ever, he was able to say that he wasn't hating it.

_Baby steps, _Harry thought, feeling hopeful.


End file.
